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GRACE O’MALLEY 

PRINCESS AND PIRATE 


TOI.D BY 

RUARI MACDONALD 

$ REDSHANK AND REBEL 

THE SAME SET FORTH IN THE TONGUE OF THE ENGLISH EV 

ROBERT MACHRAY 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


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GRACE O’MALLEY 


PRINCESS AND PIRATE 


1 

I 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


PRINCESS AND PIRATE 


TOLD BY 

RUARI MACDONALD 

REDSHANK AND REBEL 


THE SAME SET FORTH IN TH^TONGUE OF THE ENGLISH BY 

ROBERT MACHRAY 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



2n^ rr. 
J898 


■■>'0 


JWO COPIES RECEIVED* i 


Copyright, 1898, 

By FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY. 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. PAGE. 

Saved from the Sea i 

CHAPTER II. 

The Princess begins her Reign n 

CHAPTER III. 

The Title-Deed of the Sword 22 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Colonel of Connaught 32 

CHAPTER V. 

The Queen’s Peace 44 

CHAPTER VI. 

Grace O’Malley Dances out of Galway 56 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE Die Cast 71 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Capture of the Capita na 83 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Chest of Gold 96 

CHAPTER X. 

A Woman’s wile 108 

CHAPTER XI. 

Redshank AND Rebel” 121 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Whispering Rocks 133 

( 


VI CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XIII. PAGE 

A Surprise 146 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Gate of Fears 159 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Siege is Raised 173 

CHAPTER XVI. 

“ Our Natural Leader ” 187 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A Dear Victory 199 

CPIAPTER XVIII. 

At Askeaton 212 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Landing of the Spaniards 225 

CHAPTER XX. 

“ Such Stuff as Dreams” 238 

CHAPTER XXL 

The Perfidy of Desmond 251 

CHAPTER XXII. 

“Only a Woman” 265 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Parting of the Ways 277 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Barrington Bridge 291 


GRACE O'MALLEY. 


CHAPTER I 

SAVED FROM THE SEA 

It has now become so much a matter of custom — 
after that familiar human fashion which causes us to 
turn our faces to the rising sun — to praise and laud the 
King, James the Sixth of Scotland and first of England 
and Ireland, in the beginning of whose reign over the 
three kingdoms — to which he has been pleased to give 
the name of Great Britain — this chronicle is written, 
that there would appear to be some danger of a won- 
derful truth being forgotten. 

For there can be no doubt that his Highness follows 
upon a most remarkable Age, — an Age which must 
be known throughout all time to come as the Age of 
Great Women. 

And when I think upon Elizabeth of England, who 
broke the power of Spain, of Mary of Scotland, whose 
beauty and whose wickedness were at once the delight 
and the despair of her people, and of the French 
Queens, whose talents in statecraft have never been 
equaled, I make bold to deny that the period of the 
rule of his Highness will be in any respect as glorious 

I 


2 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


as that which immediately preceded his time, and in 
which these great women lived. 

Now, whether it was from the influence and inspi- 
ration of these high and mighty exemplars, or because 
it was born of the pith and marrow of decreed circum- 
stance, and so lay at the very heart of things, that 
women should then lead the way, and that men should 
give themselves up entirely to their service, I cannot 
say. Yet I know that there were other women of less 
exalted rank than those I have mentioned, whose 
powers, although displayed on but a small stage, were 
seen to be so superior to those of men that men will- 
ingly obeyed them, and lived and died for them, — and 
living or dying were glad indeed. 

And the story which I have to tell is the story of 
such an one. 

It was my lot, for so had Destiny cast out from her 
urn the shell on which my name was marked, that I, 
Ruari Macdonald, of the Clandonald, of the family of 
the Lords of the Isles, both of the Outer and the Inner 
Seas, having been unnaturally deprived of my home 
and lands in Isla, should have been saved to become 
the servant of that extraordinary woman, called, in the 
tongue of the English, Grace O’Malley. 

It is also not unusual for her to be spoken of by 
them as the “ Pirate Princess,” and the “ Pirate Chief- 
tainess of Galway,” and there have been some who have 
described her as a “ notable traitress,” and a “ nursing- 
mother of rebels.” But to us Celts, and to me in par- 
ticular, her name can never be uttered in our own 
liquid speech without something of the same feeling 
being stirred within us as when we listen to the sounds 
of soft music — so sweet and dear a name it is. 


SAVED FROM THE SEA 


3 


It is true, perhaps, that its sweetness has rather 
grown upon me with advancing years. Be sure, how- 
ever, there was a time when her name uplifted my 
heart and made strong my arm more than the clamors 
of trumpets and all the mad delight of war. But it 
seems far off and long ago, a thing of shadows and 
not more real than they. And yet I have only to sit 
still, and close my eyes for a space, and, lo, the door 
of the past swings open, and I stand once more in the 
Hall of Memories Unforgotten. 

Now that the fingers of time fasten themselves upon 
me so that I shake them off but with fainting and 
difficulty, and then only to find them presently the 
more firmly fixed, I think it well before my days are 
done to set forth in such manner as I can what I know 
of this great woman. 

I say, humbly, in such manner as I can. 

For I am well assured of one thing, and that it is 
this — that it is far beyond me to give any even fairly 
complete picture of her wit and her wisdom, of her 
patience and her courage, and of those other splendid 
qualities which made her what she was. And this, I 
fear, will still more be the case when I come to tell of 
the love and the hate and the other strong stormy 
passions which entered into her life, and which so nearly 
made shipweck of all her hopes and which in some sort 
not only did change her whole course but also that of 
her country. 

And, first of all, must I declare how it was that I 
Ruari Macdonald, a Scot of the Western Isles, came 
to have my fortunes so much bound up with those of 
Grace O’Malley. In the ordinary circumstances of a 
man of my birth there would have fallen out nothing 


4 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


more remarkable than the tale perhaps of some fierce 
fighting in our Highland or Island feuds, and that, 
most probably, would have circled round our heredi- 
tary enemies, the Macleans of the Rinns of Isla. But 
thus was it not with me, albeit it was to these same 
ancient foes of my tribe that I owe my knowledge of 
Grace O’Malley. 

Well do I recall the occasion on which I first heard 
her voice. In truth I was so situated at the time that 
while other recollections may pass out of my mind, as 
assuredly many have passed away, the memory of that 
never will. 

Do not kill him, do not kill him ! ” said a shrill 
treble, piping clear and high above the hard tones of 
men’s voices mingled together, and harsh from the 
rough breath of the sea. 

“ Throw him into the water!” cried one. 

“ Put him back in the boat ! ” cried another. 

“ Best to make an end of him ! ” said a tall, dark man, 
who spoke with an air of authority. And he made as 
if to draw his sword. 

'‘No! no!” cried the shrill treble. “Do not kill 
him. See, he is only a little boy, a child. Give him 
to me, father.” 

There was a burst of laughter from the men, and the 
shrill treble, as if encouraged, again cried, “ Give him 
to me, father.” 

“ What would you do with him, darling ? ” 

“ I know not, father, but spare him. You promised 
before we set out from Clew Bay to give me whatever 
I might ask of you, if it was in your power. And now 
I ask his life. Give him to me, father.” 

There was a silence for a short space, and I opened 


SAVED FROM THE SEA 


5 


my weary, fear-haunted eyes, gazing dazed and dis- 
tracted about me. Then I saw a small, ruddy-cheeked, 
black-haired maid on the deck of a ship, while around 
her and me was grouped a band of sun-browned, un- 
kempt, and savage-looking sailors, clad in garments not 
very different from those of my own people. In the 
midst of them was the man whom the maid addressed 
as father. I, the little boy, the child of whom she had 
spoken, was lying bound at her feet. 

My mind was distraught and overwhelmed with the 
terror and horror of what I had already undergone. 
Hungry and thirsty, and bruised and sore, I cared but 
little what might happen to me, thinking that death 
itself could hold no greater suffering than that I had 
just passed through. But the sight of the maid among 
these men of the sea awoke my boyish curiosity. As 
I gazed at her, a great wave carried the vessel up on 
its crest, and had she not put forth her hand and caught 
me by the thongs of deer with which I was bound, I 
would have rolled like a helpless log into the hissing 
waters. 

“See,” she said, “he is mine.” 

“ Then be it so,” her father agreed, after some hesi- 
tation. “ And yet, it may not be well. Do you under- 
stand our language?” he asked of me. 

“ Yes,” I replied. I knew the Irish tongue, which 
is almost the same as our own, in which he addressed 
me. For there was much traffic between the Scottish 
Islands of the West and the North of Ireland, where 
many of my own clan had settled, the “ Scots of the 
Glens” of Ulster. So I had heard Irish spoken 
frequently. 

“ Who are you ? ” he demanded. 


6 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ I am Ruari Macdonald, the son of Tormod Mac- 
donald of Isla,” I answered, but with difficulty, for my 
mouth was parched and my tongue swollen. 

“ I know the breed,” said he, with a smile, “ and the 
Clandonald are men who may be trusted. Besides, 
you are but a boy.” 

He stooped down and cut away my bonds. I tried 
to stand up, but only fell half-swooning upon the 
deck. 

“ Water, water ! ” cried the shrill treble. “ He is 
fainting from thirst.” And the voice seemed to keep 
my consciousness from ebbing utterly away. 

Then the maid in another instant was wetting my 
cracked and thickened lips from a silver cup, and I 
drank and was refreshed. Next she brought me food 
and a little Spanish wine. 

“ Let him eat and drink,” said she, “ so that his life 
may be whole within him again.” 

Taking me by the hand as soon as I had sufficiently 
recovered, and followed by her father, she led me to 
the poop of the ship, where there was a sort of cabin, 
or “castle,” as it is called. 

“ Now, Ruari Macdonald of Isla,” said the man, who 
was evidently the commander of the vessel, “ tell me 
how it was that you came to be on the wide sea, lying 
bound and nearly dead, in that small boat we picked 
up an hour or so ago?” 

“ The Macleans,” I gasped, for speech was still a 
burden to me. But before long my tongue was 
loosened, and I told them all I knew of what had hap- 
pened. 

“ The Macleans,” said I, “ of the Rinns of Isla, who 
were ever our foes, but with whom we had been at 


SAVED FROM THE SEA 


7 

peace for a long time, suddenly set upon and surprised 
my father’s castle by night. I was awakened by the 
sounds of clashing swords and the death shrieks of 
men and women — the most fearsome cries — so that my 
blood ran cold and my heart stood still.” 

I stopped and choked as I spoke. The maid nodded 
kindly, and put her little hand in mine. 

“Although I hav^e never seen a fight,” continued I, 
“ I had been told often and often of battles, so I 
guessed at once what was going on. I got up from 
my couch, and in the darkness called my mother’s 
name, but she answered not. I was alone in the cham- 
ber. Terrified, I shrieked and sobbed. Then the 
room filled with smoke. The castle was on fire. Mak- 
ing the best of my way to the door 1 was clasped in 
my mother’s arms. She carried a lighted torch, but I 
came upon her so sharply that it fell out of her hand 
and was extinguished. 

“ ‘ We are lost,’ she wailed, pressing me wildly against 
her bosom, while I could feel her heart beating fast 
and hard against my own. 

“ ‘ What is it, mother?’ I asked ; but I knew with- 
out an}^ words from her. 

“We were standing in a corridor, but the smoke 
soon became so dense that we could no longer endure 
it. Hardly knowing what she did, I think, she dragged 
me along to a window in the room where I had slept^ 
and opening it, looked out. The yard of the castle 
was alive with men holding blazing sticks of fir, and 
flames shot up from the burning door of the central 
tower in which we stood. I also looked out, and 
noticed dark, silent forms lying prone upon the ground. 

“ ' Fire or sword? What matters it?* I heard her 


8 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


whisper to herself. ‘ Lost, lost, lost ! Oh, Ruari, my 
son, my son ! ’ And she kissed me — the last kisses 
she ever gave.” 

I broke down weeping. The little hand of the maid 
caressed and soothed me. 

“ We had been spied from the yard,” I went on, after 
I had had my fill of crying, “ and a great hoarse voice 
rose above the din. 

“ ‘ Fetch me the woman and the child alive ! ’ was 
what it said. 

“ It is Red Angus Maclean,’ said my mother, hope- 
lessly. 

Then four clansmen plunged through the smoke 
and flame, and burst in upon us. Seizing us roughly, 
they took us half dead to Red Angus. 

Do what you will with me,’ said my mother, fall- 
ing on her knees before him, ‘ but shed not the blood 
of the lad,’ she implored and prayed of him. ‘ He has 
nev^er done you any harm.’ 

“ He scowled at us, and played with the handle of 
his dirk. 

“ ‘ Why should 1 not slay ye both ? ’ said he. ‘ When 
did ever a Macdonald spare a Maclean, tell me that?’ 
He paused, as if in thought. ‘But listen,’ he began 
again. ‘ Choose you,’ said he, speaking to my mother, 
‘ for such is my humor, choose you, your life or the 
boy’s.’ 

“ Thank ye,’ said my mother. ‘ Never did I think I 
should live to thank a Maclean. Swear you will not 
shed his innocent blood, and I shall die gladly.’ 

“ ‘ Have ye chosen ? ’ said he. 

“ ‘ Will ye swear not to put him to the sword ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ said he, and glared at her. 


SAVED FROM THE SEA 


9 


“ ‘ Ye have chosen,’ said he at length. 

“'Yes,’ said my mother; and with her eyes fixed 
on me, she fell beneath the stabs of his dirk ; but even 
as she fell I sprang from the arms of the men who held 
me, and leaped like a wild cat of Mull straight for his 
throat, but he caught and crushed me in his grip. 

“ ‘ Remember your oath ! ” cried my mother to him, 
and died. 

“ Seeing that she was dead he laughed a terrible 
laugh, so empty of mirth and so full of menace was it. 

“ ‘ Aye, I shall keep my oath,’ said he. ‘ No drop of 
his blood shall be shed. But die he too must, and so 
shall this accursed brood be destroyed from off the 
face of the earth. Bind him so that he cannot escape,’ 
he ordered. 

“ And they bound me with strips of tanned deer-skin, 
even as you saw when I was found in the drifting boat. 
Then he spoke to two of his men, who carried me down 
to the beach, and threw me into the bottom of the boat. 

Getting themselves into another, they towed that 
which I was in some two or three miles from shore, 
until, indeed, I could hear the struggling of the waters 
made by the tide, called the ‘ Race of Strangers.” 
And then they left me to the mercy of the sea.” 

“ How long ago was that ? ” asked the maid. 

“ Two days ago,” I replied. “ I drifted, drifted with 
wave and tide, expecting every moment to be swal- 
lowed up ; and part of the time perhaps, I slept, for I 
cannot remember everything that took place. And 
then you found the boat, and me in it,” I added 
simply. 

“ ’Tis a strange story,” said the maid’s father; and 
he turned away to see to the working of the ship, which 


10 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


was straining and plunging heavily in the swell, and left 
us two children to ourselves. 

I looked at the maid, who had been so tender and 
kind. 

Who are ye ? ” I asked timidly. 

“ I am Grace O’Malley,” said she proudly, “ the 
daughter of Owen O'Malley of Erris and of Burris- 
hoole in Connaught, — he who has just gone from us.” 

And then she told me of herself, of her father, and 
of her people, and that the ship was now returning to 
Clare Island, which belonged to them. 

See,” said she, “ pointing through a window in the 
stern, “ there are the headlands of Achil, only a few 
miles from Clare Island,” and I looked out and saw 
those black ramparts of rock upon which the ocean 
hurls itself in vain. 

“ Now Clare Island comes into view,” she continued, 
and peeping out again I beheld the shoulder of the 
hill of Knockmore looming up, while beyond it lay a 
mass of islands, and still further away the mountains 
on the coast. 

“ All this,” said the maid, with a sweep of her 
hand, “ and the mainland beyond, is the Land of the 
O’Malleys.” 

“ And is the water also yours ? ” I asked, attempt- 
ing a boy’s shy pleasantry, for so had she won me .from 
my grief. 

“Yes,” replied the maid, “ the water even more than 
the land is ours.” And she looked — what she was, 
though but a little maid — the daughter of a king of 
the sea. 


CHAPTER II 


THE TRINCESS BEGINS HER REIGN 

Ten years, swift as the flight of wild swans winging 
their way southward when the first wind of winter 
sweeps behind them, passed over our heads in the 
Land of the O’Malleys; nor did they pass without 
bringing many changes with them. And yet it so hap- 
pened that no very startling or determining event 
occurred till at the very close of this period. 

The little maid, who had saved me from the sea, 
had grown into a woman, tall in stature and queenly 
in carriage, — in a word, a commanding figure, one to 
be obeyed, yet also one who had the gifts which made 
obedience to her pleasant and easy. Already she had 
proved herself in attack by sea, or assault on shore a 
born leader, brave as the bravest man amongst us all, 
but with a mind of larger grasp than any of ours. 

Yet were there times when she was as one who sees 
visions and feeds on fantasies ; and I was ever afraid 
for her and us when I saw in her face the strange light 
shining through the veil of the flesh which spoke of the 
Dreaming Soul. 

But more than anything else, she possessed in per- 
fection a woman’s power to fascinate and charm. Her 
smiles were bright and warm as the sunshine, and she 
seemfed to know what she should say or do in order 


12 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


that each man should bring to her service of his best. 
For this one, the ready jest, the gay retort, the laugh- 
ing suggestion, the hinted rebuke ; for that, plain praise 
or plain blame, as she thought suited the case. She 
understood how to manage men. And yet was she at 
times a very woman, — petulant, unreasonable, and 
capricious. Under the spell of passion she would 
storm and rage and scold, and then she was ill to cross 
and hard to hold. For the rest, she was the most 
fearless creature ever quickened with the breath of life. 

I have heard it asserted that Grace O’Malley was 
wholly wanting in gentleness and tenderness, but I 
know better. These were no lush days of soft dal- 
liance in the Ireland in which we lived ; the days were 
wine-red with the blood of men, and dark with the 
blinding tears of widows and orphans. The sword, 
and the sword alone, kept what the sword had taken. 
And yet was she of a heart all too tender, not infre- 
quently, for such a time. 

Chiefly did she show this gracious side of her nature 
in her fond care of her foster-sister, Eva O’Malley, who 
had been entrusted when a child, a year or two after 
my arrival at Clare Island, to Owen O’Malley by a sub- 
chief who governed one of the islands lying off the 
coast of lar-Connaught. 

Never was there a greater contrast between two 
human beings of the same kin than there was between 
those two women : Grace — dark, tall, splendid, regal ; 
Eva — fair, tiny, delicate, timid, and utterly unlike any 
of her own people. 

Clay are we all, fashioned by the Potter on His 
wheel according to His mind, and as we are made so 
we are. Thus it was that while I admired I reverenced 


THE PRINCESS BEGINS HER REIGN 


13 


and I obeyed Grace O’Malley — God, He knows that I 
would have died to serve her, and, indeed, never 
counted the cost if so be I pleased her — I loved, loved, 
loved this little bit of a woman, who was as frail as a 
flower, and more lovely in my sight than any. 

Men were in two minds — aye, the same man was 
often in two minds — as to whether Grace O’Malley 
was beautiful or not ; but they were never in any 
doubt, for there could be none, of Eva’s loveliness. 
Howbeit, I had said nothing of what was in my 
thoughts to Eva ; that was a secret which I deemed 
was mine alone. 

For myself, I had grown to man’s estate — a big fel- 
low and a strong, who might be depended upon to look 
after ship or galley with some regard for seamanship, 
and not to turn my back in the day of battle, unless 
nothing else were possible. 

Owen O’Malley had received me, the outcast of Isla, 
into his own family, treating me as a son rather than 
as a stranger, and, although I never ceased to be a 
Scot, was proud to be considered one of the Irish also. 
Under his tuition I learned all the ways and customs 
of his people — a wild people and a fierce, like my own. 
So far as Connaught was concerned, these ten years 
were for the most part a time of peace among its tribes, 
and thus it was that I came to know like a native its 
forests and mountains, its rivers and lakes, and the 
chief men of the O’Flahertys and Burkes and O’Con- 
nors, whose territories marched with those of the 
O’Malleys on the mainland. 

But I learned much more, for Owen O’Malley taught 
me how to steer and handle a ship so that it became 
a thing of my own— nay, rather a part of myself. He 


14 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


also gave me my knowledge of the coasts of Ireland, 
and there was scarcely a bay or an inlet or a haven, 
especially on the western shores, into which I had not 
sailed. And as he proved me and found me faithful, 
he himself showed me the Caves of Silence under the 
Hill of Sorrow — strange, gloomy caverns, partly the 
work of Nature and partly of man, once the homes of 
a race long perished, of whom no other trace now re- 
mains. With the exception of Grace O’Malley, from 
whom he kept nothing hid, and himself, no one but me 
was aware of the entrance to them and of what lay 
concealed within. 

It had been the habit time out of mind of the 
O’Malleys to take toll of all shipping in these waters, 
and to make raids from their galleys upon unfriendly 
tribes living along the coast. The fishermen who came 
over from Devon, and who paid tribute according to 
the number of their smacks, went unmolested ; but the 
merchant trader was ever thought to be a fair prey. 
Thus, except in winter, when storms tied up O’Malley’s 
ships in the harbors of Clare or Burrishoole, Owen’s 
three great galleys were constantly at sea. 

After I had reached manhood it was usual for Owen 
himself to be in command of one, Grace of the second, 
and myself of the third. It was one of these expedi- 
tions which brought about an event which changed 
the course of our lives. 

We had sailed southward, and were standing out 
one night late in spring about three miles from the 
northern shores of Kerry, on the watch for any trader 
on its way to the port of Limerick. The coolness of 
the night still lay on the edge of dawn under the dying 
stars, when a fog, dense, dark, and choking, encom- 


THE PRINCESS BEGINS HER REIGN 15 

passed us around, so that our three ships lost sight of 
each other and soon drifted out of hail. 

Hours passed, and still the fog lay heavy and close. 
In the afternoon it lightened and lifted and disappeared. 
There were no signs of our companions. I made my 
course for a creek at the mouth of the Shannon, where 
it had been arranged we were to meet in case of any 
mishap. Towards evening the galley called The Gray 
Wolf, with Grace O’Malley as its chief, came bowl- 
ing up alongside. 

Obeying her summons to go over to her ship, I went 
on board The Gray Wolf, when we exchanged greet- 
ings, inquiring of each other if we had seen or heard 
anything of The Winged Horse, her father’s vessel. 
Neither of us knew anything of it, and there was noth- 
ing to be done but to await its arrival. We were chat- 
ting pleasantly, when I saw outlined against the sunset 
flaming in the west the hulk of a merchantman, which 
we guessed from her build and rig to be an English 
ship, probably from Bristol, coming on under press of 
sail. 

On she came in stately fashion with her sails belly- 
ing out in the fresh breeze, and we could hearhermen 
singing snatches of sailor glees upon her decks. We 
gazed at her, and then we saw a dreadful and an 
uncanny thing. Grace O’Malley was the first to 
speak. 

“ Look, look ! ” she said. “ What is that ? ” 

My eyes were fixed on the ship, but I could not tell 
what it was that we saw. 

“ I know not,” I replied. “ Perhaps it is some new 
device of these English. No ; it can hardly be that. 
What is it, I wonder? ” 


i6 


GRACE O MALLEY 


We stared and stared at it, but could make nothing 
of it. 

“ It might almost be a phantom ship, Ruari,” she 
said. “ But we see it too plainly and hear the sailors 
too well for that.” 

Meanwhile, I noticed that the men in our galleys 
stood about the bulwarks, rubbing their eyes and 
shading them with their hands, as if they felt that 
here was some portentous thing. 

This is what we saw as the English vessel drew 
nearly abreast of us. 

On the white spread of the mainsail two huge, 
gigantic shadows of men seemed to appear, to loom 
large, to grow small, to disappear, and then to reappear 
again. 

A sort of awe fell upon us. 

“ What can it mean?” I asked. 

“Wait,” said she; “we may know soon enough, for 
I think it is of evil omen for us.” 

“ ’Tis nothing,” said I boldly, although I feared ex- 
ceedingly ; “ nothing but a trick played upon us by the 
sinking sun and its shadows. ” 

“ Nay, ’tis something more than that,” said she. 

Suddenly the wind fell off somewhat, and now the 
canvas of the merchantman slapped against her masts 
with dull reports like the sounds of an arquebus shot off 
at a distance. 

I saw her name in letters of white and gold — Rose- 
mary, and as the way she had on carried her past us, I 
understood what was the cause of what we had seen. 
For as she swayed with the movements of wind and 
wave, we beheld two bodies strung up from the yard of 
her foremast, swinging to and fro with her every mo- 


THE PRINCESS BEGINS HER REIGN 17 

tion, looking, as they jerked up and down, as if they 
were still alive, struggling and gasping in their last 
agony. 

I glanced at Grace O’Malley, whose face had grown 
in an instant white and rigid. 

“ Do you not see,” said she, after a moment’s silence, 
‘‘that the poor wretches are Irish from their dress? 
Thus do these English slay and harry us day by day. 
Is there never to be an end of this wanton killing of 
our people ? ” Then she became thoughtful, and 
added in a tone of sadness, “ My heart misgives me, 
Ruari ; I feel the grip of misfortune and grief.” 

“ Make no bridge for trouble to pass over,” said I, and 
spoke many words of comfort and confidence, to all of 
which she scarcely listened. Respecting her mood, I 
left her and went back to my own ship. The Cross of 
Blood. 

That night, while I was on watch, I heard the soft 
splash of oars, and presently out of the darkness there 
came the hail of a sailor from the bow of The Winged 
Horse^ as she rounded the point and slipped into the 
creek where we lay. 

Something in the tone of the sailor’s voice, more per- 
haps in the slow drooping of the oars, at once aroused 
my attention. Without words I knew that all was not 
well. Where was the chief ? There could but be one 
reason why there was no sign of Owen O’Malley him- 
self. Either he was grievously wounded or he was 
dead. Hastily I swung myself into the boat of my 
galley, and made for The Winged Horse^ which was now 
riding at anchor about a bow-shot away. 

Tibbot, the best of pilots and steersmen in Ireland, 
met me as I clambered up on to the deck. 

2 


i8 


GRACE O MALLEY 


Whist ! ” he entreated, as I was beginning to open 
my mouth in eager questionings. 

“ What has happened ? ” I asked in a whisper. 

“The chief has been badly hurt, ” he replied. “ He 
lies in the poop cabin, bleeding, I fear, to death.’' 

“ What ? ” I exclaimed ; “ bleeding to death ! ” 

“ Let me tell you ” 

But I interrupted him sharply. 

“ I must see him at once,” I said, and I made my 
way to the poop, where, stretched on a couch of skins, 
lay my friend and master. As I bent over him he 
opened his eyes, and though the cabin was but dimly 
lighted, I thought he smiled. I took his hand and 
knelt beside him. My anguish was so keen that I could 
not speak. 

“ Ruari,” said he, and that great full voice of his had 
been changed into that of a babe ; “ is it you, Ruari ? ” 

“Yes; it is I,” replied I, finding nothing else to say, 
for words failed me. 

“ Ruari, I am dying,” said he simply, as one who 
knew the state in which he was, and feared not. I 
have received the message of death, and soon must my 
name be blotted out from among the living.” 

As he was speaking there was a rustling in the waist 
of the ship, and Grace O’Malley stood beside us. 

“ Father, father,” she cried, and taking his head and 
shoulders on her breast, she crooned over him and 
kissed him, murmuring words of passionate mourning, 
more like a mother than a daughter. 

“ Grace,” said he, and his voice was so small that my 
breathing, by contrast, seemed loud and obtrusive. 
“ I am far spent, and the end of all things is come for 
me. Listen, then, to my last words.” 


THE PRINCESS BEGINS HER REIGN 19 

And she bent over him till her ear was at his 
lips. 

“ In the blinding fog/’ continued he, “we drifted as 
the ocean currents took us this way and that, carrying 
us we knew not whither — drifting to our doom. The 
galley, before we could make shift to change her course, 
scraped against the sides of an English ship — we just 
saw her black hull in the mist, and then we were on 
her.” 

The weak voice grew weaker still. 

“ It was too big a ship for us, yet there was but one 
thing to do. I have ever said that the boldest thing 
is the safest thing — indeed, the only thing. So I 
ordered the boarders forward, and bade the rowers take 
their weapons and follow on.” 

The dimming eyes grew luminous and bright. 

“ It was a gallant fight,” he said, and his accents 
took on a little of their old firmness, “ but she was too 
strong for us. In the attempt we lost several of our 
men, and some were taken prisoners. We were beaten 
off. Just as the two vessels drove apart, and the barque 
was lost in the mist, a stray shot from an arquebus hit 
me in the thigh — and I know I cannot survive.” 

“ What was the name of the ship ? ” asked Grace. 

“ The Rosemary, of Bristol,” he replied. It was the 
name of the merchantman we had seen with the two 
corpses swinging from the yard of her foremasts. 
“ You will avenge my death, Grace, but not now. You 
must return at once to Connaught, and assemble our 
people. Tell them that my wish, my command at the 
point of death, is that you should succeed me in the 
chieftainship.” 

There was no sound for a space save only the cry of 


20 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


the curlews on the shore, calling to their mates that 
another day was dawning. 

“ Ruari,” said the ghost of a voice, “ Ruari, I had 
hoped that you and Grace ” 

“ But the cold fingers of death sealed the lips of the 
speaker. 

Grace O’Malley fell forward on the stiffening body ; 
and, thinking it best, I left the living and the dead 
together. In another hour the three galleys were beat- 
ing northward up the coast, and on the evening of the 
second day after Owen O’Malley’s death we anchored 
in the haven of Clare Island, where the body was buried 
with all the honors and ancient ceremonies paid by the 
Irish to their chiefs. 

Then came the meeting of the clan to determine 
who should succeed Owen O’Malley, for, according to 
a law similar to that which prevails among our Celts 
of the Islands, the members of each sept, who have 
reached the age of the warrior, have a voice in the 
election of chiefs. As I was not in reality one of them- 
selves, nor could forget that I was a Scot — a Redshank, 
as the English called me, albeit I could ruffle it on oc- 
casion with the best Englishman that ever stepped — I 
took no part in the council, nor spoke my mind until 
the older men had said their say. 

It was at once a beautiful sight and a memorable, this 
great gathering, and the most beautiful and memorable 
thing of all was that men were content, and more than 
content, ‘‘hat a woman should, for the first time in their 
history, be called their chief. 

When it was my turn to speak, I related what I had 
heard fall from Owen O’Malley as he was dying, and, 
without further words, dropping on my knee I took 


THE PRINCESS BEGINS HER REIGN 


21 


the hand of Grace O’Malley, and swore by the Five 
Wounds of God to be her servant so long as it might 
be her will. 

Then her people, old and young, pressed about her, 
calling her their darling and their pride, and thus she 
became their leader and chief. 

But with the death of Owen O’Malley there was an 
end of the times of peace and quietness in Connaught, 
whereat, like the hothead I was, I rejoiced, not seeing 
the perilous adventures that lay before us. 


CHAPTER III 


THE TITLE-DEED OF THE SWORD 

Ruari ! ” 

It was the soft note of Eva O’Malley, calling to me 
as I came within the gate of Carrigahooley Castle, 
whither Grace O’Malley, our mistress, had come to ful- 
fil her month of mourning for her father. I had just 
crossed over from Clare Island on a small sailing vessel, 
which now lay in the little harbor under the west wall. 

“ Ruari ! ” 

It was ever a sound of gladness to me, that sweet 
voice ; and looking up to the chambers of the women, 
half-way up the front of the great square tower, I be- 
held the fair face, framed in its pale-gold curls, against 
the darkness of the embrasure of her window. My 
heart gave a quick bound of pleasure, and then I grew 
hot and cold by turns. 

For I loved her, and the fear that is born of love 
made my strength turn to weakness when I gazed upon 
her. Yet was I resolved to win her, though in what 
way I knew not. Neither did I hope overmuch up to 
that time that I understood her, for her manner was a 
riddle to me. 

And here let me set down what were then my rela- 
tions to these two women, or, rather, what was their 
attitude to me. 

22 


THE TITLE-DEED OF THE SWORD 


23 


Grace O’Malley clearly regarded me as a younger 
brother, and never lost a certain air of protection in 
her dealings with me. To her I remained always in 
some sort “ a little boy, a child,” whose life she had 
saved — although I was one of the biggest men in 
Ireland. 

Eva O’Malley, who was two years younger than I, 
had tyrannized over me when I was a lad, and now that 
I was a man she mocked at and flouted me dubbing me 
“Giant Greathead” — I say “ Greathead,” but in our 
language Greathead and Thickhead are the same — and 
otherwise amusing herself at my expense. But in her 
griefs and troubles it was to me she came, and not to 
Grace, as might have seemed more natural. 

“ Ruari ! ” she called, and I waved my hand to her 
in greeting. As I went into the hall she met 
me. 

“ I was waiting for you,” she said, “ for I wished to 
speak to you before you saw Grace.” 

“Yes?” I asked, and as I noticed the freshness of 
the roseleaf face I marveled at it for the hundredth 
- time. 

“ Grace has made an end of her mourning,” she went 
on, “and her purpose now is to go to Galway to see 
the Lord Deputy, if he be there, as it is said he is, or, 
if he be not, then Sir Nicholas Malby, the Colonel of 
Connaught.” 

I could have shouted for joy, for I was weary of 
forced inaction while the fine weather was passing us 
by, and all the harvest of the sea was waiting to be 
gathered in by ready hands like ours. 

“ Glad am I, in truth, to hear it,” said I heartily. I 
was not fond of Galway, but I was anxious to be again 


24 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


on the waters, and who could tell what might not hap- 
pen then ? There had been no fighting for a long time, 
and the men were lusting for it, hungering and thirst- 
ing for it — only biding, like dogs in the leash, for the 
word. And I was of the same mind. 

“ But listen, Ruari,” said Eva. “ Is it well that she 
should go to Galway ? To my thinking there is a very 
good reason against it.” 

“Indeed,” said I, surprised. “What is it? As I 
have declared already, I had no special liking for Gal- 
way — and the sea is wide. 

“ By going to Galway,” said she, “does she not run 
the chance of putting herself in the power of the Eng- 
lish ? Is it not to thrust one’s head into the very jaws 
of the lion ? The English never loved her father, Owen 
O’Malley, and the merchants of Galway were never 
done accusing him of supplying himself from their 
ships at his good pleasure without asking permission 
from them.” 

I smiled, for what she said about the dead chief was 
true. 

“ ’Tis not well to smile,” said Eva, frowning. 

“ There is wisdom in your words,” I replied, becom- 
ing instantly grave at her rebuke. “ But why not say 
to Grace herself what you have said to me? ” 

“ Oh, you mountain of a man,” she said, “ to be so 

big and to be so ,” and she stopped, but I could 

fill up the gap for myself. 

“ What have I said ? ” demanded I, still more 
abashed. 

“ Think you not that I have aljeady spoken to her ? ” 
she asked. “ But she will not hearken.” 

“ Why should she,” said I, “ care for my opinion ? ” 


THE TITLE-DEED OF THE SWORD 25 

“You know she does care,” she said testily. “But 
there is more to tell you.” 

“ More ? ” I asked. 

Her manner now showed the utmost dejection. 
Her eyes were downcast, and as I regarded her I asked 
myself why it was that one so fair should have dark, 
almost black eyelashes, — eyelashes which gave a strange 
shadow to her eyes. Her next words brought me 
quickly out of this musing. 

“The ‘Wise Man,’” said she, “is set against her 
going. His words are of darkness and blood, and he 
declares that he sees danger for us all in the near future. 
I’m afraid — you know he sees with other eyes than 
such as ours.” 

And she said this with such evident terror that in- 
wardly, but not without some dread, I cursed the “ Wise 
Man,”— a certain Teige O’Toole, called “Teige of the 
Open Vision ” by the people, who counted him to be 
a seer and a prophet. He was certainly skilled in 
many things, and his knowledge was not as the knowl- 
edge of other men. 

As she stood beside me, wistfully, entreatingly, and 
fearfully, I pondered for a brief space and then, I 
said — 

“ I will go and speak with Teige O’Toole, and will 
return anon,” and forthwith went in search of him. 

I found him sitting on a rock, looking out to sea, 
murmuring disconsolately to himself. Straightway I 
asked him what it was that he had to say against 
Grace O’Malley’s intended visit to Galway, but he 
would vouchsafe no reply other than the awesome 
words which he kept on repeating and repeating: — 

“ Darkness and blood ; then a little light ; blood 


-26 GRACE O’MALLEY 

and darkness, then again light — but darkness were 
better.” 

Whereat I shuddered, feeling an inward chill ; yet I 
begged of him not once, nor twice, to make plain his 
meaning to me. He would not answer, so that I lost 
patience with him, and had he not been an aged man 
and an uncanny I would have shaken the explanation 
of his mysterious words out of his lips, and, as it was, 
was near doing so. 

Rising quickly from the stone whereon he had been 
sitting, he moved away with incredible swiftness as if 
he had read my thoughts, leaving me staring blankly 
after him. 

What was it he had said ? 

“ Darkness and blood ; and then a little light ! ” 

Well, darkness and blood were no strangers to 
me. 

“ Blood and darkness ; then again light — but dark- 
ness were better ! ” 

I could make no manner of sense of it at all ; but I 
saw the meaning of it plainly enough in the years tha; 
followed. 

I felt a gentle touch upon my arm, and Eva was by 
my side. 

“ Grace wishes you to go to her at once,” she said. 
“ O Ruari, Ruari, dissuade her from going.” 

“ I will do what I can,” I replied ; but I knew be- 
forehand that if Grace O’Malley had settled what she 
was to do, nothing I could urge was likely to change 
her purpose. 

Slowly I went into her presence. 

“ Eva has told you,” she said, “ that we set out at 
once for Galway.” 


THE TITLE-DEED OF THE SWORD 27 

“Yes,” I answered, “ but I pray you to consider the 
matter well.” 

“ I have considered it well,” she replied ; “ but say 
on.” 

“ Is it a necessity,” I asked, “ that you should go to 
Galway ? Are there not many more places in Ireland 
for us to go to ? Is not the north open to us, and the 
west, with plenty of Spanish merchantmen and English, 
trading on the broad waters ? ” 

“ All in good time,” said she, smiling at my elo- 
quence. 

“ Here,” said I, emboldened to proceed, “ here you 
are among your own people, on your own land, and no 
one will seek to molest us. But in Galway — every- 
thing is different.” 

“ That is it,” she said earnestly. “ That is the very 
reason — everything is different there.” 

She stopped as if in thought. 

“ Listen, Ruari ! My mind,” said she, “ is made up 
to go to Galway to talk over our affairs with the Eng- 
lish governor.” 

So this was the reason. 

“You say I am safe here,” she continued, “but am 
I ? Word was brought me only yesterday by a trusty 
messenger from Richard Burke, the MacWilliam, that 
my father’s old-time enemy, Murrough O’Flaherty, is 
whispering in the ear of Sir Nicholas Malby, the 
Colonel of Connaught, — perhaps into the ear of the Lord 
Deputy himself, for I hear he is expected about this 
time in the city — that my father was an enemy of the 
Queen, Elizabeth, and that I, his daughter, am sure to 
follow in his steps.” 

“ Murrough O’Flaherty ! ” cried I, “ is he not content 
with his own wide lands of Aughnanure? ” 


28 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


** Content,” said she. “ Such a man is never con- 
tent ! Then this insidious whisperer goes on to hint 
that I am only a young woman, and that my father 
has left no heir. It is plain enough, is it not, what he 
means ? ” 

Sir Nicholas Malby,” said I, is reputed to be a 
just man and a good soldier. ’ 

“ A just man — perhaps, who knows ! That is why I 
am going to Galway. I must make clear my right and 
title to my father’s possessions.” 

“ Right and title,” I exclaimed, and unconsciously I 
placed my hand on the hilt of my sword. 

She saw and interpreted the action. 

“ Our title-deed,” said she, “ has been that of the 
sword — ” 

And so shall it always be,” I broke in. 

“ In one sense, yes,” she assented ; “ but we live in 
times of change, and things are not as they were. All 
the chiefs and lords of Ireland are now getting a title 
for their lands from the queen. Even my father did 
something of the sort. If I go not to Galway to put 
forward my claims it will be said that I am disloyal 
and a traitress.” 

“ So,” I said, it may be an evil to go, but it is a 
worse thing to stay here.” 

“ Yes,” she answered ; “but I have other reasons. 
It is not that I put so much trust in a piece of parch- 
ment, signed and sealed, although I see no harm in 
getting it. Ruari, I have purposes that reach far be- 
yond Galway, and Connaught even, and for the present 
I deem it not well openly to incur the enmity of the 
English.” 

This speech was beyond me, so I held my peace 


THE TITLE-DEED OF THE SWORD 


29 


until I remembered what the “ Wise Man ” had 
said ; but when I mentioned it she replied that she 
knew of the matter, and though it troubled her, it 
would make no difference to her plans. 

Then she fell to brooding and thinking, as was her 
way, whereupon I left her to get the ships ready for 
sea even as she wished. 

So, before another day was passed, the three great 
galleys drew away from the shelter of Clare Island, 
and, speeding before a fair wind, made for the south. 
Grace and Eva O’Malley were on The Gray Wolf, 
Tibbot, the pilot, was in command of his dead Master’s 
ship. The Winged Horse, while I was on my own vessel, 
The Cross of Blood. 

We took a great company with us of nearly one 
hundred and fifty men, including a band of areque- 
busiers, besides bards and pipers, and a priest on each 
ship. The priests were not much to my liking on ship- 
board, but Grace would have them. Both Grace 
and Eva brought of the finest of their garments, all 
made of rich Spanish stuffs, so that they might appear 
before the governor as befitted their rank. I myself 
took with me two full suits, also of Spanish make, and 
such as were worn at courts, that I might not appear 
unworthy of my mistress. 

As the wind was steady, the black cliffs of Achil, 
with the mass of Cushcamcarragh and the dome of 
Nephin behind them, soon grew distant in our wake. 
The glowing cone of the Holy Hill of St. Patrick, a 
wonder of light and shade as beam of sun or shadow 
of cloud fell upon it, sank behind us. 

And on we went through a sea of silence, whereon 
we saw never another ship ; on past the gray or green 


30 


GRACE O MALLEY 


islands off the coast, until the wind dropped at sunset. 
Then the rowers bent their backs and knotted their 
muscles over the oars, and so drove the galleys up the 
long, narrow arm that is called the Bay of Killery, until 
we found anchorage under the mighty shoulders of that 
king of mountains, the lonely Muilrea. 

At early morn, before the sun was up, a far-off, 
tender flush had sprung up, like something magical, 
upon the western rim of the world, the dirl, dirl, dirl, 
and the clamp, clamp, clamp, of the oars, as they smote 
the groaning pivots on which they swung, was heard, 
and the galleys went foaming out from the bay, the 
spray rising like a fine dust of gems from under the 
forefeet of the ships. Then we caught a breeze, and 
the sails swelled and drew, while the sailors gat them 
to their places with shouts and laughter. 

Is there any coast in the four quarters of the globe 
where you will find more splendid havens than in the 
portion of Ireland lying between the Bay of Killery 
and the Bay of Galway ? Well has that land been 
named Connemara — that is, the “ Bays of the Ocean.” 
The rugged cliffs, where on the weather and the waves 
have combined to throw all manner of cunning colors 
far beyond power of painter to copy, still less devise, 
are everywhere broken by inlets, in many of which all 
the fleets of Spain and of England together might have 
ridden safely — hardly one of these bays but has its 
island breakwater in front of it for its protection from 
the storm and tempest. 

’Tis a rare home for seamen ! 

As the day wore on we fell in with a Scottish ship 
hailing from Wigtonshire, called The Lass of Garrick, 
going to Galway like ourselves. But Grace O’Malley 


THE TITLE-DEED OF THE SWORD 


31 


had given command that until her business was finished 
with the governor, we were to continue peacefully on 
our course, so we left her without scathe, whereat our 
men were in no way offended, there being but little 
profit to be got out of a ship coming from Scotland. 

A vessel going back from Galway to Scotland was 
another thing, for she generally carried a cargo of wines 
of different sorts, to say nothing of silks and other valu- 
able materials. Therefore made I a note in my mind 
to watch The Lass of Garrick when we were come to 
Galway, and to observe what she took away in that 
broad, ill-built hulk of hers when she left the port. 

That night the galleys, put in into the Bay of Caslah, 
the most eastern harbor on that coast, and the follow- 
ing day, without adventure of any sort — so calm a 
beginning might well have told me what storms there 
would be before the end — we made Galway 

As had been arranged between us. The Cross of Bloody 
my ship, let go her anchor in the harbor between the 
mole and the bridge by which the city is entered on 
that side, while the other galleys stood out some dis- 
tance in the bay. Sending a messenger ashore, I made 
known the errand upon which we were come, and, after 
waiting a long time, received answer that the Lord 
Deputy was not yet come to Galway, but that Sir 
Nicholas Malby would see Grace O’Malley ; and would 
give a safe conduct to her and her guard. 

It was now too late for our landing that day, so we 
remained where we were all that night. Next morn- 
ing the three galleys rode within the harbor of the 
city, and not far from us were The Lass of Garrick and 
several other vessels, all come for the wines and the 
other merchandise of the great and famous city of 
Galway. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 

It was about an hour from noon, a hot sun burning 
in a blue sky, when Grace O’Malley signified from The 
Gray Wolf that she was about to land, and that it was 
her desire that I should accompany her, but that I 
should go on shore before her, to make sure that she 
would not be detained at the gate. Having made a 
suitable response to my mistress, I gave command to 
the rowers and the helmsman of The Cross of Bloody 
and the galley slowly drew up alongside the wall of 
the harbor, beside the gate by which an entrance is 
made into the “ Street of the Key,” as it is called. 

Perhaps it was the fierce heat which indisposed to 
exertion of any sort, but the place was strangely quiet 
and still. Two or three soldiers, with steel morions 
on their heads and corselets of iron about their bodies, 
gazed at us with indolent curiosity from the towers 
and parapets that looked across the bay. 

At the gate itself were an officer and his guard, 
lounging about listlessly enough in the sunshine, and 
taking apparently but a little languid interest in our 
movements. A few sailors of different nationalities, 
among whom the swarthy Spaniards predominated, 
and some of the country fisher-folk, walked about the 
quay. Not far from us The Lass of Carrie k was dis- 

32 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 33 

charging her cargo ; below us a fishing smack, with its 
one great sail set, was being rowed out to sea. 

As my galley approached within a few feet of the 
quay, I heard a whistle, or what seemed a whistle. In- 
deed, so swift and shrill did the sound bite into the 
air, that it was as if some one standing close beside me 
was trying in this fashion, very peremptorily, to excite 
my attention. At the same time, or, mayhap, a little 
sooner or a little later — the whole thing, it appeared 
to me, came together on the instant, as it were — I felt 
the rush and the wind made by an arrow or a bolt as 
it flew past my face. Then the crick-crack of the barb 
as it smashed and splintered the wood of the bulwark 
behind me, followed immediately afterwards. In- 
voluntarily, I put up my hand to my cheek. 

Death had passed close to me, had almost touched 
me. Yet, hardly realizing what had happened, I stood 
rooted to the spot. A queer, quaking sob burst frona 
me — the surprise was so sudden, so complete. 

My first thought was that the arrow had been in- 
tended for me, but I had escaped it by the breadth of 
a hair, and no more. I was untouched. Momentarily 
I expected other arrows ; but none came. I asked 
myself what was the meaning of the solitary arrow. 
At first sight it appeared as if we were about to be 
dealt with treacherously — that we were being beguiled 
to our destruction. Evidently, that was the mind of 
my men in the matter, for they had made a quick and 
terrible outcry that we were betrayed when they 
marked the flight of the quivering shaft. 

Holding up my hand for silence, but bidding them 
take their weapons as quietly and calmly as they could, 
I waited for what might next befall. Ordering the 
3 


34 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


oarsmen to cease rowing, the galley lay motionless on 
the water. Looking anxiously up at the parapet, and 
then at the gate, I could perceive no unusual com- 
motion among the soldiers, nor could I see a bowman 
amongst them. It appeared doubtful if they had ob- 
served that anything out of the ordinary had taken 
place, and, certainly, they acted as if they had not. 
It plainly was no affair of theirs — that was certain, for 
they were not more on the alert than before. 

Whence, then, had come the arrow, and for what 
purpose, if not one of death? 

My second thought showed me clearly that, had the 
mysterious archer intended to kill me, there would 
have been nothing easier, for, standing as I did on the 
poop, I was the best mark in the world ; nor would he 
have required any marvelous expertness in his art to 
have made an end of me. So, as everything about us 
now seemed favorable and fair for us, I next turned 
my regard to the arrow itself, which was fast in one 
of the beams of the galley. 

Now for the first time I noticed that it had been 
shot into the ship in such a way that it was nearly or 
altogether hidden by the shape of the vessel from 
being seen by those on shore ; and I bethought me 
that it must have been sped without hostile intent, 
but, on the contrary, conveyed some message of warn- 
ing which it would be well not to neglect. Wrench- 
ing forth the missile with an effort from the beam, I 
examined it carefully, and found, as I had begun to 
anticipate, a message ; for roughly inscribed upon it 
was the word “ Beware ! ” 

With the dark, foreboding saying of the Wise Man 
still ringing in my ears, it Avas not likely that I should 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 35 

overlook any measure of precaution that was in my 
power, but the safe conduct of the Governor of Con_ 
naught had given me a feeling of security — which was, 
perhaps, not justified. Thus it was that I could not 
but suspect that the message of the arrow was meant 
to prevent me from putting trust overmuch in Sir 
Nicholas — a man whom I had not yet seen. 

Instead, therefore, of taking with me only six spear- 
men, as I had purposed, as a part of Grace O’Malley’s 
bodyguard, I doubled the number. Besides these 
there also landed three gentlemen of her household, 
chiefs from the islands, men of proved courage, to 
whom the use of the sword was as much a part of 
themselves as the breath they drew. I had already 
sent ashore early in the morning a trusty steward, with 
instructions to procure two horses for my mistress and 
Eva O’Malley, and he now, as we made fast to the 
quay, came forth from the gate with two splendid 
barbs, each attended, as is usual in Ireland, by its own 
swift-footed horse-boy. 

While our landing was proceeding I could not help 
wondering who it was that had sped the arrow, and 
why he had chosen this way of conveying his warn- 
ing. Manifestly he was one who was afraid, and 
desired to keep in the background, for reasons that 
commended themselves sufficiently to him. Rapidly 
thinking over the affair, I came to the conclusion that 
our friend could be none other than Richard Burke, 
the MacWilliam of whom mention has already been 
made, and who, I had some reason to guess, cherished 
a tenderness for Grace O’Malley. 

And right mightily glad was I to think that one 
so strong and brave was in Galway at this time. So 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


36 

great was his fortitude and tenacity of purpose that 
he was quite commonly spoken of as Richard the Iron, 
and never in the day of adversity was there a stouter 
heart or a more vigorous arm than his. 

But why had he taken — or caused to be taken, as 
was most probable — this extraordinary method of ap- 
prising me of immediate danger, for that and no less 
I concluded was the meaning of that one word, 
“ Beware ! ” The future was to show, and that soon 
enough. 

To lay The Gray Wolf alongside of The Cross of 
Blood was the work of a few minutes, and soon the 
two ladies were mounted upon their horses, but not 
before I had told Grace O’Malley of the incident of 
the arrow, and asked if she had any further instructions 
to give. 

Now, my mistress was possessed of that high and 
proud sort of spirit upon which the hint of danger acts 
as fuel to fire or spur to steed. So she did but cast 
her eyes over the men I had picked out, and. select- 
ing a similar number from her own ship, said that her 
purpose was unchanged. 

“ Tell the officer on guard at the gate,” said she, 
that I go to confer with the Governor, Sir Nicholas 
Malby, on affairs of state.” 

The captain of the gate appeared to be somewhat 
dazed with the size of our party, which numbered more 
than thirty swords, spears, and battleaxes, and he ar- 
ranged his men in a line as we advanced. Saluting my 
mistresses with grave punctilio, he informed us that 
Sir Nicholas was lodged at the house of the Mayor of 
Galway, where for the time he held his court. But, he 
said, as he stood resting the point of his drawn sword 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 


37 

upon the ground, orders had been given to admit into 
the town only the lady Grace O’Malley, her women, 
and not more than a few of her people. 

When I protested against this, he replied that the 
Governor was very strict ; and as for himself, he was 
merely a soldier whose duty was to do what he was bid. 

My mistress, as he spoke, flashed on me a glance of 
quick intelligence ; then she turned with a brilliant, 
compelling smile to the officer. 

“ Sir,” cried she with animation, looking with her 
dark, lovely eye€ into the eyes of the Englishman, “ you 
speak as a soldier should. But here ” — and she waved 
her hand round her company — “ are not more than a 
few of my people, as it were. You think that we be 
too many? Nay, Sir, ’tis not so. Is it not fitting to 
do as much honor as I can to the Governor? And the 
more of us the greater the honor done him ?” 

And she smiled again upon the officer, who was a 
young man and a gallant, to his undoing. While they 
were thus engaged in parleying — they conversed for 
some time, but what further was said I did not hear — 
we had pressed within the gate and filled up part of 
the street beyond. Having gained this position, I had 
no thought of retreating. The captain, noting our 
bearing, and partly won over by Grace O’Malley’s 
woman’s wiles, partly making a virtue of necessity, for 
we could easily have overpowered his men, again 
gravely saluted. 

“ Be it as you wish, lady,” he said ; and so we passed 
on up the Street of the Key. 

It has been my lot to see of great cities not a few, 
but, though I had scant reason to love the place, not 
many, I will say, that were finer or more handsomely 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


38 

built than Galway was in these days. She was now at 
the very height of her prosperity, and laid claim to be 
second in the kingdom to Dublin alone, and proudly 
vaunted her superiority over her ancient rival Lim- 
erick. 

As we marched up the Street of the Key, the ladies 
magnificently attired in our midst, and presently en- 
tered the High Street, the tall spires of the church of 
St. Nicholas of Myra — the patron saint of mariners, 
who hath ever been most favorable to me — rose in 
front of us ; while the storehouses of the merchant 
princes of the city — the Lynches, the Martins, the 
Blakes, the Kirwans, and others whose names escape 
me — encompassed us with vast buildings of dressed 
stone on every hand. 

On all sides were signs of abundance and wealth. 
And small wonder; for there was hardly a port of 
France or Spain — nay, of all Europe — whither the 
ships of Galway did not go. Her traders, ever unsatis- 
fied, had even sailed out beyond the Spanish Main to 
the Indies. 

But it must be remembered that Galway was not an 
Irish city, but an English — where it was not Spanish. 
The strong walls and towers which belted her in were 
not more for defense against an enemy who might at- 
tack her from the sea, as against the Irishry who dwelt 
beyond her gates. And keen and bitter as was the 
hatred between Englishman and Spaniard, that be- 
tween the Englishman of Galway and the Irishman, 
whose home was in the country, was keener and more 
bitter still. The day was not to close without a proof 
of this. 

On we passed, making a brave show, with the sun 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 39 

overhead shining on our arms and harness, while the 
townsmen stood and gaped, and the women looked out 
at us from their windows and doors. On we passed 
until we halted before the mansion of Stephen Lynch, 
the Mayor, reputed to be the richest man in Galway. 
Here, in front of the house, there was a guard, and I 
could see through the archway that the courtyard 
beyond was full of soldiers. 

After an exchange of gieetings I was shown into an 
anteroom, and thence sent word to Sir Nicholas that 
my mistress was without, and waited his pleasure. 
After a slight delay, the Governor replied that he was 
at meat, and that he would think it an excellent omen 
if my mistress, her ladies and gentlemen, would honor 
him by their company. 

Then, to my surprise, the Mayor himself appeared, 
helped, with much ceremony, Grace and Eva O’Malley 
to alight, and invited them, myself and certain of our 
comrades of rank to enter, at the same time command- 
ing that our men should be most courteously enter- 
tained. 

All this display of friendliness was so different from 
what I had expected that I knew not what to think. 
Afterwards I learned that Sir Nicholas had been in- 
formed of our numbers, and that this had led him to 
change the plan he had originally formed — and which I 
understood was that Grace O’Malley was to have been 
at once seized and held as a prisoner until he had de- 
termined what was to be done in her case — and this, 
notwithstanding the safe conduct he had given. 

Separated as I was by some distance at table from 
my mistresses, I could not hear the conversation be- 
tween them and the Governor, who talked to them in 


40 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


a certain bluff, soldier-like fashion. Amongst others 
present were Sir Murrough O’Flaherty of Aughnanure, 
Richard Burke of Mayo, and others of the chief of Con- 
naught who were known to us. But all my attention 
was taken up in watching, as carefully as I could, Sir 
Nicholas Malby, the Governor. 

There was no possibility of mistaking him for any- 
thing but what he was — the successful soldier of fortune. 
He had the port of one used to command, and there 
was a rough dignity about him that sat well upon him. 
His face was scarred and weatherbeaten, and I had 
heard that he had seen hard service, both in the Low 
Countries and in Spain. He did not come, I had been 
told, of any noble or considerable family. His sole pos- 
session had been his sword, and he had rather hewn 
than carved out his path in the world with it. 

I at once recognized in him a shrewd and capable 
man, who would not let many things stand in his way. 
Here was one, I knew, to be reckoned with. Myself a 
man who both gave, and therefore expected to receive, 
heavy blows ; here was another of the same sort, and 
I felt a certain respect for him. 

There was told a curious tale of£the way in which 
he had become a soldier — and ’fore God, it is not for 
me to say I think the worse of him for it ! It is never 
a custom of mine to set down anything I hear to any- 
one’s despite, yet in this instance the story helps show 
the nature of the man. 

In his youth, which was mean and poverty-stricken, 
he had been arrested, convicted, and condemned to 
death for coining — so 'tis said, and I understand this 
to be the truth. In some manner or other — I know 
not how — he had made interest with one of the great 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 


41 


nobles at the English court, and was released on con- 
dition that he would enter the nobleman’s service as a 
soldier, and proceed to the war then being waged 
against the Emperor. And this he did, acquitting 
himself so much to the satisfaction of his superiors, that 
he was soon placed in command of a body of merce- 
naries, and had displayed no little valor at their head. 

Later, he had come over to Ireland under Sir Henry 
Sydney, who esteemed him so highly, owing to the 
manner in which he had fought against the O’Neils of 
Ulster, that, when Sir Henry was Lord Deputy of 
Ireland for the first time, he had advanced him from 
post to post, until he was now Governor, or ‘‘Colonel 
of Connaught,” as his title was. 

One thing we had heard, and that was like all the 
rest of the English, he was very greedy for money, and 
that his ears readily listened to an argument that was 
backed up with gold. Therefore had we brought with 
us rich presents for the Governor, which were duly de- 
livered to him when dinner was finished. 

Such, then, was Sir Nicholas Malby, upon whom the 
fortunes of my mistress so much depended. I per- 
ceived that she was studying him with no less intent- 
ness than myself, but that she hid this under a gay and 
sparkling demeanor. 

When the meal was over. Sir Nicholas said that he 
desired to talk with her alone, and they withdrew to- 
gether to another room. Whereupon Sir Murrough 
O’Flaherty and the other gentlemen of the Irish, 
gathered around me, plying me with many questions, 
to all of which I returned evasive replies, feeling in 
truth exceedingly anxious, and wishing nothing so 
much as to be on board my galley again with my mis- 


42 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


tresses safe in theirs. Nor did I have an opportunity 
— as I desired — to speak privately to Richard Burke. 

It was about the middle of the afternoon when Grace 
O’Malle}^ sent for me and presented me to Sir Nicholas, 
telling him that I was her foster-brother, and that I was 
pledged to her service. The Governor scanned me 
narrowly up and down, then suddenly put forth his 
hand and grasped mine with a grip of steel. I fancied, 
and herein I was right, as events subsequently proved, 
that he had something of the same feeling in regard to 
me as that I had experienced for himself. 

“ I have but one desire,” said he, when he had talked 
for some time, “ and that is, the establishment of the 
Queen’s peace in Connaught.” And he laid his hand 
heavily on my own. I bowed, but answered not, think- 
ing in my mind that silence was best, for what had we 
to do with the Queen’s peace, we who were the free 
rovers of the sea? 

Then it appeared that Grace O’Malley had been asked 
by the Mayor to be his guest for awhile, and that she 
had accepted his invitation. So I now learned that 
my mistresses were not to return to the ships at once, 
but were to take up their abode in the mansion of the 
Lynches along with the Governor. 

I was none too well pleased with this arrangement, 
remembering the message of the arrow, but dissembled 
my fears and suspicions, particularly when I was in- 
formed that no objection was made to her keeping her 
guard. I further gathered from her air that she was 
not ill-content with the result of her interview with Sir 
Nicholas, and that all seemed to be going as she wished. 

Anon the Mayor entered, bringing with him his 
daughter Sabina, a dark, handsome woman of twenty 


THE COLONEL OF CONNAUGHT 


43 


summers, who was to be the hostess of my mistresses, 
for her mother was dead. And with her in this fair 
seeming entered also the Shadow of Destiny — a shadow 
not to be lifted for many a day. 

It was never given to me to read the hearts of women, 
nor to comprehend their ways, but, being but a man, 
I looked upon this woman with pleasure, little dream- 
ing what evil she was to work upon us. Here was 
one, had I but known it, far more to be feared than 
the bluff, determined soldier who was Colonel of Con- 
naught. 


CHAPTER V 


THE queen’s peace 

It was some three hours or so from sunset when I 
took my leave of my mistresses, both of whom were 
in the highest spirits. I saw that my young and in- 
nocent dear was delighted with her surroundings, and 
had completely forgotten her objections to Galway. 
She and Sabina Lynch had at once become friends, 
and, indeed, it was impossible for any one to see Eva 
O’Malley and not immediately to be gained over by 
her. 

But Grace O’Malley had a certain reserve in her 
talking with the Mayor’s daughter — a reserve that 
sprang from instinct or intuition, or a forecasting of 
the future, perhaps. 

My two ladies had entrusted me with various orders 
to their women with regard to sundry boxes of apparel 
to be sent to the Lynch mansion, and as I set off to 
The Cross of Blood, I felt in better humor with myself 
and the world. Fortune at the moment appeared to 
smile upon us. Sabina Lynch had told me just before 
I bade her good-by, that her father was to give a revel 
with dancing — after the fashion which obtained at the 
Court of Elizabeth, who was immoderately fond, I have 
heard, of this form of entertainment — in a few days, 
in honor of the Governor. 

44 


THE queen’s peace 45 

I could see that my mistresses both looked forward 
to it with keen anticipations of pleasure. At first I 
could not share in their feelings, thinking that we did 
but waste our time in Galway, until Grace O’Malley 
had confided to me, in an aside, that she believed her 
affairs would soon be settled with Sir Nicholas. 

She had declared to the Governor that it was her 
desire to hold her lands from the Queen, on condition 
that instead of being bound to supply for her High- 
ness’s service so many soldiers when called upon for a 
hosting, she should maintain her ships and their crews 
of sailors and fighting men so that they would be 
always ready to do the Queen’s will, whether it was 
on the western coasts of Ireland or of Scotland. He 
had not said “ Nay,” but had put the matter off until 
he had considered it more fully. 

As I was walking down the Street of the Key to the 
harbor, along with the three gentlemen of our house- 
hold who had gone with me to the Mayor’s, we met 
a party of half a dozen citizens of the place, all stand- 
ing talking together. Their voices were raised either in 
anger or debate, and as we approached I heard enough 
to understand that they were discussing the action of 
the Governor with regard to my mistress, and that it 
met with their strong disapprobation. 

“ Our ships will never be safe,” cried one, as we 
came up with them. They made no effort to let us 
pass, though the street was narrow at this point, and 
seemed rather as if they intended to dispute the 
ground with us. The odds were against us, but not too 
greatly ; so saying, “ By your leave,” I went on. 

“ Sir,” cried I, the hot, angry blood burning in my 
cheeks, as I returned roughly enough the push I had 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


46 

received from one of those who blocked the way, “ Sir, 
your manners stand in much need of mending — or 
ending.” 

And my sword — a flash of living fire in the wester- 
ing sun — was out in a twinkling, 

I knew the fellow who had insulted me. It was 
Michael Martin, a rich merchant and a person of au- 
thority in the town, notwithstanding his comparative 
youth — he was not much older than myself — to whom 
I spoke. He had deliberately jostled against me as I 
made to pass him, and I was never blind to a hint of 
this kind. 

His action, coupled with the words I had heard, had 
quickly got me out of the happy frame of mind with 
which I had quitted the Mayor’s mansion, and my 
thoughts were immediately of my mistresses’ danger. 
His unmannerly act meant more than hostility to me. 

“ Draw ! ” shouted I furiously, and his sword flashed 
out at me. Martin was neither a coward nor a poor 
swordsman, and my hands were full with this business 
in another instant. 

“ Manners,” quoth he, as our blades rang together 
as steel met steel; “manners! Manners, forsooth! 
Who are you to teach a gentleman of Galway man- 
ners? You — the scum of the sea ! ” 

And so he raved, keeping his eyes warily fixed on 
mine the while. 

These fresh insults maddened me like the stirring 
of venom from the poisonous fangs of a wolf, and a 
sudden fierce storm of passionate anger such as I had 
never before felt swept over me, as I cried to him 
across the darting swords, “ We shall see, we shall see ! ” 

Meanwhile my comrades ranged themselves beside 


THE queen’s peace 47 

me with their weapons unsheathed, and several of 
those who had been talking with Martin were not 
slow to follow their example, but, it was rather, as it 
happened, with a view to forming a ring round my 
opponent and myself, so that we had the fighting to 
ourselves. 

“ A brawl, a brawl ! ” some one cried, and there was 
the sound of the shutting of windows and the closing 
of doors. 

My position placed me at a disadvantage, for the 
sun, now sinking downwards behind the hills on the 
other side of the Bay of Galway, cast its rays in my 
eyes, and caused me to blink, whether I would or no, 
as the points of our swords, forming glittering circles 
of flame, whirled this way and that. I endeavored to 
force the fighting so that my adversary would change 
his ground, but he was fully conscious of how much 
he gained by maintaining his place, and all my efforts 
were vain. 

Now, as we thrust and parried, lunged and retired, 
my anger passed away, and I found myself become as 
cool and collected as if I had been on the deck of my 
ship. I had successfully met and defeated a stubborn 
attack, at the same time piercing his breast for a short 
inch mayhap, so that the blood spurted forth in a little 
jet, when Martin, saying quickly with a choking gasp, 

“ Another time. Redshank ! ” suddenly gave way, 
much to my surprise, not seeing any reason for his 
change of front. Surrounded by his friends, he turned 
swiftly, and in hot haste made off down the street, and, 
entering a narrow lane not far from the wall, was lost 
to view. 

For one instant I stood, breathing heavily, sword still 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


48 

on guard. Then I was about to follow, when a voice, 
harsh and commanding, cried : “ Halt ! Stop ! Halt in 
the Queen’s name ! Halt, halt ! ” 

I knew the voice, although I had heard it for the 
first time in my life that very day. It was Sir Nicho- 
las Malby, the Governor himself, and no other, who 
spoke. I also realized that I had gotten myself into a 
position of some hazard, to say the least, with one to 
whom the preservation of the Queen’s peace was the 
principal object of his ambition. 

But the Governor was, above everything — so I said 
to myself — a soldier, and I flattered myself he would 
understand, and even sympathize with, my feelings in 
this matter. He was attended but by two of his 
officers, yet he came up without hesitation, and the 
fierce question of his eyes was full of challenge. 

What is this? ” he cried. “ I will have no brawl- 
ing in the streets ! ” 

I saluted with great deference, remembering, perhaps 
rather late in the day, Grace O’Malley’s orders that 
we were to do everything we could to make our stay 
in Galway a peaceable one, and made bold to say as 
respectfully as I could : 

“ Sir, the fault scarcely lies with us ; ” and I went 
on to tell him exactly how the affair had been brought 
about, protesting that I could act in no other way 
than I had done, as the quarrel had been forced upon 
me. As I told my story he nodded coldly, but not 
disapprovingly. 

I am resolved to have an end of all strife,” said he ; 
at length, after thinking deeply fora short time : ‘‘ Can 
you tell me who was the aggressor? ” he asked. “ Did 
you know him ? ” Then, without waiting for my an- 


49 


THE queen's peace 

swer, he continued, threateningly, “ I will hang any 
man whom I find disturbing the Queen’s peace, be he 
prince or kerne, chief or gallowglass ! ” 

Now, it was no part of my business to hand over 
Martin to the mercies of the Governor, and it was 
very much my affair, I thought, that I should settle 
my quarrel with him personally, so I made no reply 
to the question of Sir Nicholas. 

“ He was a stranger to you, I presume,” said he, 
and was about to pass on, but changing his mind, he 
asked whither I was bound and for what purpose. 

When I told him I was on my way to the galleys, 
and with what object, he smiled a little grimly, and 
walked with me towards the gate. He made many 
inquiries as to the number of fighting men there were 
aboard of the galleys, and the manner in which they 
were armed. I asked Sir Nicholas whether he would 
not pay a visit to The Cross of Blood, but he declined, 
as it was his custom to make a survey of the walls at 
this period of the day. 

“ Your mistress,” said he, as he left me at the gate, 
“ is in good hands.” And I could not but muse some- 
what darkly at this enigmatic sentence. 

It was past the middle of the night, when I was 
aroused by some one coming softly into my cabin. A 
lantern swung from the beam above my head,. and in 
the half darkness I made out Walter Burke, my chief 
officer, and with him Richard Burke the MacWilliam. 
In a moment I was wide awake, knowing that this 
secret visit of Richard the Iron was pregnant with 
something evil. Eagerly I looked into his face. 

“ What brings ! ” I exclaimed loudly. But his 

fingers were placed on my lips. 

4 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


SO 

“ Quietly, quietly,” said he. “ I do not suppose that 
there are any traitors on TJie Cross of Blood f continued 
he. 

“All stanch, stanch,” I interrupted, “every one.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said he ; “ but what I am come to tell 
you is not a thing to be proclaimed from the tops of 
our towers.” 

Stirred by a host of thronging fears, I waited, keenly 
apprehensive of his next words. They were heavy 
enough, although the misgivings I had felt had not 
left me altogether unprepared for tidings of the 
kind. 

“ Grace O’Malley,” said he in a low tone which 
thrilled me through, “ is virtually a prisoner in Galway. 
The Mayor, or rather, I should say, his daughter, has 
made herself answerable to the Governor for her. 
While your mistress is apparently free to come or go as 
she pleases, she is in reality deprived of her liberty, as 
she will discover if she tries to leave the mansion of 
the Lynches.” 

“Grace O'Malley a prisoner?” 

“ That is what she is,” said Richard Burke. “ She 
is not bound, nor is she locked up in a room. Her 
every movement, however, is watched by Sabina Lynch. 
While she may think herself a guest, and an honored 
guest, the hospitality is a mere pretense.” 

“ But why, why ? ” 

“ There are many reasons, as you well know, he re- 
plied. “ The mind of the Governor is set against al- 
lowing any of the ancient customs of the land ; he is 
endeavoring quietly and skilfully — for he is not a 
blustering bully as some others are — to reduce the 
power of the chiefs and to make them pay tribute to 


THE queen’s peace 5 1 

the Queen. Where he does show his hand plainly it 
is always to strike a deadly blow.” 

“Yes, yes,” I said, impatiently. Grace O’Malley a 
prisoner, and I sitting quietly in my ship ! The thing 
seemed impossible — yet it was true. 

“ No need for haste,” said he calmly. “ Listen to 
what I have to say, and then you will grasp the matter 
more surely. Sir Nicholas will offer no violence if he 
can gain his point without it.” 

“ What is his point? ” I asked. 

“ Is there any need to ask ? ” replied Burke. “ Grace 
O’Malley is a powerful princess in Connaught. She 
has her lands, her galleys, and several hundred well- 
armed men at her back. Is that not enough? Are 
the English not trying to clip all our wings? But 
there is far more in the case of your mistress.” 

“ Go on, go on ! ” I said. 

“ This,” said he. “ The mind of Sir Nicholas has 
been wrought upon by the merchants of Galway, who 
are ever about him, saying this and that, offering him 
valuable gifts and such things as he loves.” 

“To what end ? ” 

“You know as well as I do, that these proud-stom- 
ached folk have no great liking for us Irish,” said 
Burke. “ Did you never hear that thpy have a statute 
of the town that ‘ Neither Mac nor O’ shall strut or 
swagger ’ in the streets of Galway ? There has always 
been, however, a friendship between us Burkes of Mayo 
and one or two of the families here, as for instance, 
the Lynches, and I hear through them all that is go- 
ing on. 

“ Owen O’Malley plundered the ships of the Galway 
merchants, making scant distinction between them and 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


52 

Spanish or French or Scottish ships. Grace O’Malley 
shared in many of her father’s doings before he died^ 
and the people of Galway think that she has inherited 
her father’s nature and disposition as well as his lands 
and ships, and that as long as her galleys roam the 
sea there will be no safety for their vessels.” 

The words were nearly the same as those Eva 
O’Malley had used when she tried to dissuade my 
mistress from setting out from Clew Bay. 

“What would they have Sir Nicholas do?” I 
asked. 

“ Break up her ships ; scatter her people ; hang, kill, 
burn, slay them ; hold her a prisoner; or — or there is 
no advantage to be derived from our shutting our eyes 
— kill her, too, by poison, perhaps, unless she agrees 
to the terms of the Governor.”* 

Burke now spoke in great excitement, and with 
laboring breath ; nor could I listen to his words with 
any degree of composure. 

“ She will never agree to the Governor’s terms,” said 
I. “ She is being deceived, for she believes that Sir 
Nicholas is favorable to her suit.” ^ 

“ Put that hope out of your mind,” replied he. “ Sir 
Nicholas is merely playing with her, — with what object 
you can easily guess. It is for no other reason than 
to make her ruin the more complete.” 

I assented gloomily. 

“Now we know what to expect,” I said. “We are 
forwarned and so forearmed.” 

“Your mistress pays no heed to warnings.” said 
Burke hotly. 

I thought of the arrow and its message. 

“ The arrow! ” I said. 


THE queen’s peace 53 

“Yes,” he replied. “I could not send you word 
openly, so I chose that way, getting one of my men, 
who is a famous archer, to send the shaft into your 
ship.” 

I thanked him warmly, remarking, however, that 
Grace O’Malley would pay no attention to any warn- 
ing whatever, once she was resolved upon any partic- 
ular course. 

“ She must be told now of her danger,” he said, 
“ and at once.” 

“ I suppose,” said I, “ I can still see her.” 

“That I know not,” he replied ; “ but news of your 
fight with Michael Martin is all over the town, and you 
will have to walk circumspectly. Sir Nicholas spoke 
of his meeting with you, and declared that all such 
conflicts must be severely punished. Go not into Gal- 
way — unless with a strong guard.” 

The counsel was wise, but I was quite determined, 
if necessary, to disregard it. My mind, however, sud- 
denly went on another tack, and I spoke out what my 
thought was. 

“ I must see her, and that without delay,” I said ; 
“ but you mentioned that you were friendly with the 
Lynches. Could not Grace O’Malley be sent a message 
through them ? If the Mayor is not to be trusted, 
surely Sabina Lynch, his daughter, cannot sympathize 
greatly with the dark and terrible projects of the 
Governor. Would she not convey a letter to my 
mistress ? ” 

Richard Burke looked at me fixedly and search- 
ingly. 

“That is doubtful,” said he, at length. Then he 
added, “ I do not think that we can place our confi- 


54 GRACE O’MALLEY 

dence in Sabina Lynch in anything that concerns Grace 
O’Malley.” 

“ Why ? ” I asked, simply. 

He did not answer immediately, but stopped and 
pondered awhile before he replied : — 

“ I am about to tell you, Ruari, what I never thought 
to tell you or any other living soul. But the need is 
urgent, and I must speak. The Lynches and myself 
are old friends. I have known Sabina Lynch since 
she was a child, and I have been made aware in many 
ways — there is no need to go further into that — that I 
am not displeasing to her now she is a woman. And 
her father has as much as intimated that he regards 
me with eyes of favor.” 

I saw it all in a minute. Sabina Lynch loved 
Richard Burke, and Richard Burke did not return 
her affection. Did Sabina suspect that she had a 
rival? Did she regard Grace O’Malley as a rival? 
These questions passed through my mind with the 
speed of light. 

“ What has Sabina Lynch to do with Grace 
O’Malley?” I asked. 

“ I will not conceal from you,” said Burke, “ that I 
am not in love with Sabina Lynch, but am in love with 
your mistress. Once I imagined that it was Owen 
O’Malley’s intention to wed you to his daughter, but 
neither you nor she has a passion for the other. Is it 
not so ? ” 

“Yes,” I replied. “She is an elder sister to me — I 
am no more than a younger brother to her.” 

“ I love Grace O’Malley,” said he, “ with all my 
soul and with all my strength. I mean to ask her 
to be my wife on the first favorable opportunity — ” 


55 


THE queen’s peace 

I broke in harshly. 

“ This is no time, surely, to talk of such a matter,'" 
I cried, “ now when she is a prisoner, and helpless in 
the hands of people who are her bitter enemies. 
Rather let us cast about for some method of deliverine 
her.” 

“ I ask nothing better,” said Burke, “ than to assist 
you, — only remember it is not well to place any confi- 
dence in Sabina Lynch.” 

Then we spent the next hour discussing plans, and 
having formed one which had some promise of success, 
Burke left the galley as secretly as he came — his boat 
disappearing into the darkness of the night. 

After he had gone, I tried in vain to sleep, and find- 
ing my thoughts but dismal company, had myself 
rowed over to The Winged Horse, where I sawTibbot, 
the pilot, whom I informed of the visit of Richard 
Burke, and of what we had concerted to do for the 
deliverance of Grace O’Malley. And as we could not 
foresee what the next step of the Governor might be, 
it was agreed that Tibbot’s galley should be kept ready 
for instant action, and to provide against any surprise 
by keeping her out in the bay, at such a distance that 
she should be out of the range of the calivers and 
bombards mounted on the walls of Galway. 


CHAPTER VI 


GRACE O MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 

As early in the morning as was possible, without caus- 
ing remark or exciting suspicion, I went into the town, 
taking with me several of my own men. The same 
officer who had been in charge of the guard the previ- 
ous day was at the gate, and I advanced towards him 
boldly, as if I had had no notion in the world that there 
could be anything amiss, nor, so far as he was con- 
cerned, was there. 

For he gravely returned my salutation, merely giv- 
ing me “ Good-day ” without waste of words, and 
waved his hands in the direction of the church of St. 
Nicholas of Myra. 

When I had arrived at the mansion of the Mayor, I 
could see no difference in the manner of the reception 
I was accorded, except such as there would be ow- 
ing to my mistress not being present on this occasion. 

I sent in my name, with a request that Grace 
O’Malley might be informed of my arrival, and after a 
short time— short as far as the actual minutes, but 
which appeared an age to me, so impatient and anx- 
ious was I — I was conducted into a spacious room, 
where I found my two ladies, Sabina Lynch, and 
several gentlemen, most of whom were Irish. They 
were in the midst of a conversation as I entered, and I 

56 


GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 57 

quickly gathered that they were talking about the en- 
tertainment the Mayor was to give in honor of the 
Governor, before many days. They were speaking of 
corantos and other dances, in which I had but small 
proficiency, and I could not help saying to myself that 
Grace O’Malley could have no suspicion how slippery 
would be the floor for her feet ! 

On endeavoring to get speech with her privately, 
I found myself completely bafifled, and that so subtly 
and craftily, that I raged and fumed inwardly. For 
when I attempted to draw her aside, we were instantly 
joined by Sabina Lynch, who smilingly disguised her 
purpose of preventing us from talking together by our- 
selves, under a mock of empty but pleasant words. 
Indeed, so skilfully and readily did she speak, and with 
so much apparently of good-will, that I had constantly 
to remind myself of all that Richard Burke had told me 
only a few hours before. 

What my feelings were may be guessed, but I did 
my utmost to conceal them, although not very success- 
fully, as I afterwards was told by Eva O’Malley. I 
never was one who could play the part of gallant or 
courtier, and what I knew to be in the wind did not 
tend to assist me in the efforts I now made to be at 
my ease, and to seem confident that there was not a 
cloud in the sky. 

And it could hardly be that one, who had seen so 
much of me as Eva had, but would observe my clumsy 
attempts at gaiety and lightheartedness. What she 
thus saw in my manner made her very uneasy, but at 
the same time she kept her ideas to herself. It was 
enough, however, to put her on her guard, and caused 
her to watch more narrowly whatever was going on. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


58 

A couple of hours were spent in this way, and, dis- 
turbed beyond measure by reason of my inability even 
to breathe a word of warning to my mistress — I had 
resolved to say nothing of their peril to the woman I 
loved, fearing lest it might prove too hard a trial for 
her, wherein I misjudged her strength most grievously 
— I bade them farewell for that day. 

As I left I encountered the Governor who was com- 
ing up the street. He reined up his horse, and after 
uttering a few courteous words, asked me not to fail 
to go through the square of the town-cross on my way 
to the quay. He said this with so much curious insist- 
ence in his tone that my interest was roused to the 
quick. 

As a man enters this square from the east side, the 
first object which meets the eye is not the town-cross 
but the town gallows. As soon as I had turned the 
corner of the street, I perceived that from the gibbet 
there swung in the wind, forward and backward as the 
breeze rose and fell, the figure of a man. That the 
Governor had intended me to see this, and that it had 
some special lesson for me I did not doubt, so I pressed 
forward smartly. Yet it was with an amazed horror 
that I beheld the dead man’s face. 

For the victim was none other than Michael Martin, 
my antagonist of the previous afternoon. The Gov- 
ernor had followed the matter up, and had discovered 
him whom he had called the aggressor in the interrupted 
duel. Verily was the Queen’s peace being maintained 
with a vengeance. I had read the ruthless character 
of Sir Nicholas aright. Here, what had been a man, 
had been tried, sentenced, and executed in a few hours, 
and that Martin had occupied no inconsiderable posi- 


GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 59 

tion in Galway showed that the Governor was afraid of 
none. 

If he would not hesitate to act in this fashion in the 
case of one of the English of Galway, how much less 
would he care for the Irish of Connaught ? — this I per- 
ceived plainly enough was what he desired Martin’s 
death to intimate to me. For myself, notwithstanding 
what had passed between Martin and me, I was hot 
and indignant that a man so brave as he should have 
been put to so foul a death. 

It was in a melancholy mood that I bent my steps 
to the quay, albeit, I made a great effort to keep from 
my face the troubled thoughts of my mind. Not 
only had I failed in acquainting Grace O’Malley 
with her real position, but I was also well aware that 
the hatred with which she inspired the people of 
Galway would be made all the fiercer by the death of 
Martin. 

Striving to cast aside these somber reflections as un- 
manly, and likely only to hamper me in any plan I 
might form for the freeing of my mistress, I went on 
board The Cross of Blood. I, at least, was free as yet, 
and ready to do and dare all. But so far I could not 
see my way, and had I been left to myself to carry out 
the device Richard Burke and I had formed, would 
probably have suffered some such fate as that of 
Michael Martin. 

The next three days passed without any striking 
event. I had seen my mistress once at the Mayor’s 
mansion, and the attempts I made to reach her private 
ear were not met and checked as effectively as before. 
I noticed, however, that while she appeared as gay as 
ever, there was a something about her that suggested 


6o 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


in one way or another she was conscious that she was 
not at complete liberty. 

She had desired — so I got to know later on — to go 
down to her galley, but obstacles had been put in her 
path and objections had been raised. Then she had 
grasped the situation in which she had been placed, 
but had both the courage and the wisdom not to let 
this be evident. 

It was the fifth day of our stay in Galway when 
The Lass of Garrick cast herself off from her moorings 
by the quay, and, towed out by her two boats into the 
bay, made ready for sea. I watched the rich prize 
slip out of our hands wdth dismay, but it was my only 
business at present to stay where I w^as. Yet, as I 
noticed how deep the Scottish ship lay in the water, I 
could not but regret that my hands were tied. 

The captain made some signs to me which I did not 
comprehend, but which I interpreted as ironical fare- 
wells. I was the more mystified when, as I watched 
her approach The Winged Horse^ I saw a boat put off 
from her for that galley. But when the night fell I 
had every reason to bless and not curse The Lass of 
Garrick. For in the dark Tibbot came on board my 
ship, bringing a letter from Grace O’Malley, which she 
had managed through one of her women, who had 
made love to the Scottish captain, to send thus secretly 
to me. 

Now, the revel which the Mayor was giving for Sir 
Nicholas was to take place on the next day, and in this 
letter my mistress, who was now thoroughly awake to 
her danger and also to the perfidy of Sabina Lynch, 
set forth her plan of escape. It was at once bold and 
ingenious, and had a fair prospect of succeeding. That 


GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 6 1 


it was not carried out exactly as had been calculated — 
but that is to anticipate events. 

My part was simplicity itself. 

My mistress told me to come to the revel, as I had 
been invited, as if attending revels had been my occu- 
pation all my life, and to bring with me as many armed 
men as I thought could be got safely into Galway. 
But on no account was I to omit to fetch the two pipers 
— Phelim of the White Lock (he had an odd-looking 
tuft of white hair on his forehead) and Cormac, his 
brother. What they had to do will appear later. 

Further, I was commanded to have the galleys ready 
to put instantly to sea, for the favorable outcome of 
the matter depended in the end on the swiftness of our 
movements. 

Having received this letter, my breast swelled with 
joy. The calm was at an end, I said, and now for the 
storm ; and ever in these days loved I storm more than 
calm. My spirits rose immediately as this week of 
wearisome waiting drew to an end and the time of ac- 
tion was at hand. 

As soon as the day had come I called my chief offi- 
cers together, and bade them be ready to sail that 
night, and I gave a similar charge to those of The Gray 
Wolf, Then I picked out several of the older men, 
and, for a pretext that they might be admitted into the 
town the more easily, despatched them with boxes and 
bales for our mistresses, which they were to carry to 
the mansion of the Lynches. I also sent a gift to the 
Governor, in order that he should have no ghost of a 
notion that I knew how matters stood. 

In this manner, then, I introduced twenty more of 
our men into Galway, making up for their absence 


62 GRACE O’MALLEY 

from the two galleys by causing Tibbot to send me 
some of his. 

To those sent into the town I gave as a common 
meeting-place at a given hour the tavern that is under 
the sign of “ The Golden Eagle,” bidding them there- 
after to assemble in the High Street near the Mayor’s 
house. There they were to await my coming with my 
mistresses, if events should fall out according to our 
wish, and then, if there should be any need, I should 
tell them what to do. 

At the appointed time I presented myself at the 
Lynch mansion. Here I found a considerable com- 
pany was gathered together, many of the chiefs having 
arrived from the surrounding districts, north and south 
and east. In the streets was a great throng of gallow- 
glasses and kernes, who had come into the place along 
with their chieftains. 

The scene was one of bustle and movement and con- 
fusion. Among the crowd, engaged in keeping some 
sort of rough order, were a few English soldiers, part 
of the garrison of Galway. I noticed many of our own 
men, and as I liad passed through them I had suc- 
ceeded in telling them to take as little part as possible 
in any sports or quarrels that might be going on, but 
to hold themselves prepared to rally to me, and to fol- 
low when I should call upon them to do so. 

When I entered the large room in which the revel 
was to take place, I saw Sir Nicholas and his officers 
standing in a group by themselves, receiving the chiefs 
and their ladies, as well as the principal citizens of 
Galway and their wives, as they came up. 

Near them were the Mayor and his daughter, who 
was the center of a number of beautiful maidens and 


GRACE O'MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 63 

Stalwart young men. The instruments of music were 
already sounding forth their sweetest strains, inviting 
to the dance ; and Sir Nicholas, making a stiff bow to 
the radiant Sabina, asked her to join him in a coranto. 

The dance ended, many compliments were paid to 
the pair, although to my mind the Governor had dis- 
ported himself like a clumsy bear, such as the Spaniards 
and the men of the South have to dance for their 
amusement. 

Sabina Lynch, on the other hand, was, I will con- 
fess, a stately figure, and as she had been taught the 
coranto in Spain, where she had been brought up for 
some years, and so was endlessly proficient in it, met 
with great and deserved attention. Indeed, I heard 
one of the English officers declare that he had never 
seen any one more graceful or accomplished — no, not 
even at the Court of Elizabeth. 

After a brief rest, Sir Nicholas again appeared, now 
leading forth Grace O’Malley. Although she thor- 
oughly understood what a mockery all this courtesy 
on the part of the Governor was, she let no sign of her 
knowledge escape her. She had too great a soul for 
that ; but had she not been cast in this mold of heroes 
she might, as a woman, have acted just as she did, so 
that she should give no triumph to Sabina Lynch. 

Dance followed dance in quick succession, and both 
of my mistresses took their full share of all that went 
on. Both of them appeared to be devoting themselves 
without reserve to the pleasure of the occasion, and I 
could not but admire them. My love for Eva O Malley 
was quickened anew, if that were possible, when I saw 
how unmoved she was, and how brave a carriage she 
kept, despite the fact that she knew they were but 


64 GRACE O’MALLEY 

prisoners in the hands of the English, and in grievous 
peril of their lives. 

I felt I could not have danced with a halter round 
my neck, yet here was this small, delicate woman do- 
ing this, and doing it as if she did not see the dangers 
that threatened her. The body, indeed, was weak, but 
the heart — how big it was ! 

Thank God, I say, for the great hearts of Avomen ! 

I tried to acquit myself also in the course of the 
entertainment to the best of my ability, but for the 
most part, being no skilled performer in the matter of 
corantos and other dances, was perforce compelled to 
spend much of the time leaning against the wall. 
Once, as the Governor was passing me by, he stopped 
and spoke. 

“ Sir,” said he, “ I have to render you my grateful 
acknowledgments for the handsome gift you have 
sent me this day.” 

“Sir Nicholas,” replied I, “the gift was sent you 
by command of my mistress.” 

The cruel, fierce eyes twinkled, and too late I per- 
ceived that my thoughtless words were making him 
suspect that some communication had passed between 
Grace O’Malley and myself in spite of his efforts and 
those of Sabina Lynch to prevent it. Thinking to 
undo the effect of my heedless speech. I made speed 
to continue. 

“ I thought,” said I, “ that had my mistress been on 
her galley she would not have come to this revel in 
your honor with empty hands.” 

“ ’Tis well spoken, by St. George ! ” said he. “ Yet 
methinks there be few in Ireland that can afford to 
be so generous.” 


GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 65 

The Governor’s brow relaxed, then clouded over 
again, for, on reflecting on my speech, he saw there 
was that in it which suggested I was not unaware that 
my mistress had been debarred from going down to 
her ships. 

“You must reap rich harvests,” continued he, after 
a brief hesitation, “ on the coast of Clew Bay, yet am 
I informed that nothing grows there but rocks.” 

Howbeit the strains of music, rising and falling like 
a summer sea, now fell upon the air, and Sir Nicholas 
moved off to his own place. But his manner made me 
anxious that what we had planned might not long be 
postponed. 

The hours one by one went by, and the time came. 

I saw my mistress, laughter in her eyes and on her 
lips, approach Sir Nicholas, and enter into a ’gay con- 
versation with him. I moved up nearer to the top of 
the room. 

“If you have never seen it. Sir Nicholas,” I heard 
her saying, “ sure am I you would like to see it.” 

I listened in painful suspense for the answer of the 
Governor. Everything depended on it. Who could 
resist Grace O’Malley, when she chose to be resistless? 
I asked myself. Then I remembered what I had heard 
and seen of Sir Nicholas, and I replied to my beating 
heart that here was a man who might resist. But he 
had no suspicion whatever, and he fell into the trap, 
baited so cunningly by a woman’s wit. 

“ I have seen it,” said he, “ and if you will honor 
me by dancing it with me ?” 

“The honor. Sir Nicholas,” quoth she, saucily “is 
mine.” 

The matter did not fall out quite as we had hoped, 
5 


66 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


for it had been part of our plan that I was forthwith to 
have danced one of our wild Irish measures, which are 
more a test of endurance than an exhibition of grace, 
with my mistress. 

It was soon spread through the assembly that the 
Governor and my mistress were to dance the dance of 
the country people, and on this proof of his affability 
towards us there were loud shouts of approval. Then 
there was a cry for the pipers, and, presently, just as 
we had schemed, in strode Phelim-of-the-White-Lock, 
and Cormac, our men — striding along the hall, with 
their pipes blowing the quickstep to a merry and 
rolicksome tune. 

Forward came Sir Nicholas and Grace O’Malley, 
while the people stood round about in a wide circle. 
But the Governor was no match for my mistress, and 
he soon began to hang out signals of distress, where- 
upon, greatly to his discomfiture, she wheeled about 
and beckoned to Sir Murrough O’Flaherty, of Augna- 
nure, her bitter enemy, to take his place — displaying 
in this selection her wonderful craft, for how could any 
one suppose — the Governor certainly least of all — that 
the O’Flaherty was chosen but to throw dust in his 
eyes ? 

My mistress danced with gliding, pit-patting feet that 
never tired, while the applause which greeted her every 
motion grew to a wild enthusiasm. Sir Murrough 
O’Flaherty had to acknowledge himself beaten, and 
retired. Grace O’Malley now cried aloud to me to 
come forward, and I stepped from the crowd, my heart 
beating faster than it had ever done in the day of battle. 

“ Dance, dance, dance ! ” cried she to me, and she 
whirled about like a mad thing. 


GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 67 

“ Have ye no pity on the pipers ? " I exclaimed, with 
a laugh that rang out, it seemed to me, false and hollow, 
but I was determined to follow her lead as best I 
might. 

“ The feet were never made,” said she, as she ad- 
vanced more slowly towards me as I took up my posi- 
tion opposite to her, and began the steps, “ that can 
out-play a piper.” 

The company smiled, grimaced, and murmured with 
delight at her answer, and the pipers, well pleased also, 
played as they never had played before. And the 
wild and furious dance went on to the wild and furious 
music of the pipes. Meanwhile I was watching my 
mistress with hungry, eager eyes, waiting for her to 
give the sign. 

Pipe, pipe ! ” she cried ; and again, “ pipe, pipe ! ” 
and the playing of Phelim and Cormac was like the 
roaring of the storm among the trees of the forest. 

So the dance went madly on until all the people 
about us grew quite still and silent, looking on more 
breathlessly than we who were dancing to that mad 
music — looking at such a measure as they never had 
witnessed before in all their lives, or ever, I dare 
swear, saw the like of again. 

Then came the sign. 

Grace O’Malley's uplifted hand slowly dropped to 
her side as with sheer weariness; the tall, queenly fig- 
ure seemed to droop, to sway uncertainly, to totter, to 
fall upon the floor, but even as she fell I had gathered 
her up in these great arms of mine, and was carrying 
her through the press towards the chambers of the 
women. 

Eva O’Malley flew to my side, her face full of fear. 


68 


GRACE O MALLEY 


as it appeared to be. The pipers’ music suddenly 
ceased. But no more I saw or heard of what happened 
next in the room of the revel. 

No sooner had the door of the apartments of the 
women closed upon us three, than Grace O’Malley 
slipped from my arms and stood up, her faintness, 
which had been merely assumed, disappearing at 
once. 

“ Quick, quick,” she cried, pointing to a door. “ There 
is the stair ! That is the way ! ” 

They stopped, however, for a little, to get a couple 
of heavy cloaks with which they hoped they might be 
able to conceal themselves somewhat from curious 
eyes. Short as the time was which this took, it was 
enough to permit Sabina Lynch to enter the apart- 
ment, and she at once perceived not only that my 
mistress had recovered in a marvelous brief space, but 
also what our project was. 

“ Seize her,” said Grace O’Malley, as she and Eva 
were leaving the room. 

I rushed towards the woman, and, clapping my hand 
to her mouth, prevented her from giving forth the 
scream she was on the point of uttering. As I was 
glancing about for something with which I might gag 
her, and so effectually silence her, my mistress again 
appeared, and said, her eyes blazing with anger : — 

“ Bring her with you, if you can ; the way is 
clear.” 

“ A gag! ” I said, and Grace O’Malley made with 
her own hands one, with which she stuffed Sabina 
Lynch’s mouth, and then bound the woman’s arms. 
Then I took Sabina Lynch up, and in silence we de* 
scended the stair which led us into the street some 


GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY 69 

twenty yards from the main entrance into the Mayor s 
house. 

It was now dark, but not sufficiently so as to hide 
us completely from observation, and an instant’s 
thought convinced me that carrying a bound woman, 
as I was doing, it was impossible to go very far with- 
out being seen by some one who would instantly give 
the alarm. Therefore, still keeping in the shadow of 
the house, I sent forth into the night the O’Malley 
battle cry, knowing that our men could not be out of 
hearing ; and the sound had not died away when there 
arose a great noise and shouting. 

“ O’Malley, O’Malley, O’Malley,” was heard on all 
sides. 

“ To me, to me ; here ! ” I cried. 

And, in less time than seemed likely, there were 
gathered about us nearly all our men, but mixed with 
them several Burkes, O’Flahertys, and others of the 
Irish. Recognizing their mistress, the O’Malleys set 
up a joyful sound. Forming some of them in a line 
across the street, I begged Grace O’Malley and Eva to 
take with them the rest, and to hasten toward the 
gate, and this they accordingly did, while two of our 
people carried Sabina Lynch between them in the 
same direction. 

In the meantime the flight of my mistresses had 
been discovered. I saw lights flitting about the court- 
yard, and heard the words of command given in the 
strident tones of Sir Nicholas, then the tramp, tramp 
of the feet of the soldiers smote upon the night air. 

To have a conflict in the streets of Galway, just at 
the place where the English were strongest, was not 
to be thought of, as it was not more foolish than it 


70 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


was unnecessary, so I ordered my men to retreat as 
swiftly as was practicable towards the gate, and to 
endeavor to catch up to Grace O’Malley before the 
gate was reached by them. 

But when we came to the gate we found it had al- 
ready been forced by our chieftainess, who had taken 
the feeble guard completely unprepared, and so had 
quietly made an end of them. It was all the work of 
a few seconds ; yet in the struggle, short as it was, 
Sabina Lynch had effected her escape. Without delay 
we proceeded to embark in the galleys, and to put out 
to sea. 

While we were engaged in this manner, the great 
bell of the church of St. Nicholas suddenly boomed 
sharply through the night ; soldiers began^ to appear 
on the battlements, torches flared from the walls, and 
bullets and arrows poured upon us as the galleys drew 
away from the quay. Some of the shots were aimed 
so well, that two of our people, one of whom was Wal- 
ter Burke, were .slain and several others wounded. 

Then, as we proceeded on our way into the bay, the 
sputtering fire ceased. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE DIE CAST 

That night I reflected with joy that the die was 
cast, as after our breaking out of Gahvay, there could 
be no peace between Grace O’Malley and Sir Nicholas 
— at any rate, until the matter was composed in some 
definite fashion. 

I trod the deck with a feeling of extraordinary 
buoyancy, and sniffed the salt air with delight as the 
galleys headed for Inishmore, the largest of the three 
isles of Arran, which have been thrown for a pro- 
tection by the hand of God, almost in a straight line 
across the entrance to the bay of Galway. 

All that I cared for in the world was held in these 
ships, now speeding over the water under the leader- 
ship of Tibbot the pilot. 

It was with deep satisfaction that I went over the 
events of the evening which had brought us with 
such success out of the town, and I looked forward 
with wide-eyed eagerness to the morning when I 
should meet my mistress, and hear her narrative of all 
that had passed when she and Eva were prisoners in 
the mansion of the Lynches. 

Eva who had keep up so bravely while the danger 
was greatest, had become faint and unstrung when 
the peril was past. Grace O’Malley would suffer no 

71 


72 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


one but herself to tend her, and thus I had had no 
opportunity for conversing with either of them after 
we had made good our escape. 

When we had arrived at the island, and had let go 
our anchors in a fair depth of water in a small bay, 
which was sheltered from the full shock of the Atlantic 
by a range of abrupt craggy headlands, I went on board 
The Gray Wolf to see my mistresses, but Grace 
O’Malley received me alone, her foster-sister not hav- 
ing altogether recovered from the fatigue of the pre- 
ceding evening. There was a new hardness, even a 
harshness, both in the face and voice of Grace. 

At first, however, she was in no mood for recount- 
ing her experiences, and could do nothing but lament 
the fact that Sabina Lynch had managed to get away 
when the gate was forced. Indeed, her escape ap- 
peared entirely to overshadow in her mind her own 
escape and that of Eva. 

“ Had it not been for her plottings and schemings,” 
said she, “ I should have brought the Governor round 
to my will. I had several interviews with Sir Nicholas, 
and at the beginning he was inclined to grant my suit, 
but soon I felt I was being thwarted by one more subtle 
than Sir Nicholas. How that woman hates me ! I did 
not suspect her at once, for I had given her no cause 
of offense.” 

‘‘ Did you find out,” asked I, why she hates you ? ” 

“ ’Tis from jealousy,” said she. “ Sabina Lynch 
would be Queen of Connaught, but she thinks that 
as long as I am free and powerful I am her rival.” 

“ Is there no other reason ? ” inquired I, remember- 
ing the words of Richard Burke. “ Is there not be- 
tween you two a cause more personal ? ” 


THE DIE CAST 


73 

“ There may be,” she replied thoughtfully ; “ for 
clever as she is, she was not sufhciently so to conceal 
from me her predilection for the MacWilliam. But 
what is that to me ? Richard Burke is nothing to me. 

“You may be much to him, however,” I answered, 
whereat she grew more thoughtful still. Being a 
woman I said to myself, she could hardly have failed 
to read the signs of his regard for her. Then I told 
her of the midnight visit he had paid me, saying noth- 
ing, nevertheless, of what Richard Burke had confided 
to me in regard to his love for herself. 

“ He is a friend,” said she, after musing for awhile, 
“ and I may have need of many such.” 

“ Tell me what passed between you and Sir Nicholas.” 

She paced the floor of the poop-cabin with quick, 
uneven steps ; then she stopped and spoke. 

“ After our first meeting,” said she, “ he was much 
less open with me, asking me many questions, but 
giving no expression of his own views with respect 
to the ships. Two things, however, he impressed upon 
me. One was that he considered that I should make 
immediately a suitable marriage — ” 

“ A suitable marriage ! ” I exclaimed. 

“The other was that it was common report that 
my father had left great riches behind him, and that 
as he had never paid any tribute to the Queen, I must 
now make good his deficiencies in that respect.” 

“ Tribute,” said I blankly. 

“ He proposed to marry me — for he decreed I was 
in reality a ward of the crown, and, therefore, at his 
disposal — to Sir Murrough O’Flaherty, a man old 
enough to be my father — and our enemy. I would 
have none of it. I fancy I have to thank Sabina Lynch 


74 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


for suggesting it to Sir Nicholas, and I replied to him, 
with indignation, that I was a free woman, and would 
give my hand where I pleased. It was then that I 
discovered that I was no longer at liberty, for it was 
told me that I must on no account leave the Lynches’ 
house without the permission of the Governor, but 
that no harm would come to me if I consented to his 
terms. I spoke of that safe conduct which Sir Nicholas 
had given me, but that was of no avail ; and ‘ reasons 
of state,’ said he, overruled any safe conduct.” 

“ This is how they keep faith,” I cried, bitterly. 

It was no tin.e for railing,” continued Grace 
O’Malley, “as I was in the Governor’s hands, and 
could see no way of getting out of them. Therefore 
I made as though I were about to submit myself, and 
I desired to see the Governor again with respect to 
the tribute to be paid to the Queen. My request 
being granted. Sir Nicholas acquainted me with his 
determination, demanding a thousand cows and two 
hundred mares, or their equivalent in gold and silver, 
by way of payment of the arrears, and two hundred 
cows each year for the future.” 

“ To all of w'hich you said No ! ” cried I. 

“ Nay, Ruari,” replied she, “ I had to match my wits 
against his power over me — was not I his prisoner? — 
and so I returned him no immediate answer, but, on 
the contrary, besought that I might have a week to 
deliberate in, bemoaning my hard fate, and protesting 
that I should never be able to comply with his demands, 
yet that I would do what was within my ability to 
compass.” 

“ And then ? ” I said. 

“ He pondered long and deeply, hesitating and 


THE DIE CAST 


75 

doubtful ; so knowing the covetous nature of the man,” 
said she, “ I took the cross I was wearing from my 
neck, and, giving it to him, begged that he would grant 
me the delay I sought.” 

“ Your jeweled cross ? ” I said. 

“ My case was an evil one,” replied she, “ and I did 
it not without pain, for the cross had been my mother’s, 
and was, besides, of great value.” 

“ He consented ? ” 

“ He became very gracious because of the bribe,” 
replied she, “ and then asked me to be present at the 
revel. ‘ Why,’ said he, ‘ should you not take part in it, 
if you would care so to do ? ’ As I was resolved to 
humor him, I was complacent, and replied that nothing 
would be more agreeable to me : but even as I uttered 
these words, some inkling of the plan for our deliver- 
ance which we carried out was forming itself in my 
mind. My woman afterwards managed to leave the 
Lynches’ unobserved with the letter I wrote you, and 
gave it to the captain of the Scottish ship we passed 
on our way to Galway. My only fear was that he 
might inform the Governor, and so our plans would 
have been frustrated ; but he has proved himself a true 
man, and one wlio may be trusted.” 

“ There is no confidence to be put in Sir Nicholas,” 
said I. 

“ The man is hard, stark, relentless,” said she, hotly, 
“but he shall find I am as hard, stark, and relentless 
as he is himself. Vengeance — vengeance, and that 
speedy, will I take ! ” 

Never had I seen Grace O’Malley so carried away 
by passion as now. Her eyes were blazing fires ; the 
line made by her lips was like the edge of a sword, so 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


76 

clear and sharp it was ; the cheeks lost their color and 
roundness, and, as she restlessly moved about, her 
black hair flew round her head like a coronal of quiver- 
ing water-snakes. 

Vengeance — vengeance ! ” she cried. 

Her vehemence bore me along as upon a fast-flow- 
ing tide. 

‘‘Vengeance — vengeance!” I shouted, so that my 
voice rang out far beyond the galley. 

“ It is in our own hands,” she said, more composedly. 
“ The wine fleet from Spain is expected in Galway to- 
day or to-morrow — at any moment we may seeTheir 
sails on the southern edge of the sea. “ Then, then,” 
cried she furiously, her anger rising again like the sud- 
den, fierce blast of the tempest, “ shall I teach Galway 
and Sir Nicholas to fear and dread my name.” 

The wine fleet ! This was a quarry, indeed ! 

For each year at this season there set out from Cadiz 
for Limerick and Galway a goodly fleet of galleons, 
each of which carried a burden more to be desired than 
a king’s ransom. These ships were laden with many 
barrels of the wines both of France and Spain, with 
rolls of silks, with bales of fine leather, with suits of 
raiment and shirts of mail, and blades of Toledo, and 
with other articles of price, tlie products of Europe, 
and, even, to some extent, of the mysterious Orient, 
where Turk and infidel held their sway. These were 
exchanged against the fish — for which our island was 
famous — the hides, salt, meat, wheat and barley of the 
country, 

Grace O’Malley’s vengeance on Galway was to at- 
tack, capture, or destroy that portion of the wine fleet, 
as it was commonly spoken of, the destination of which 


THE DIE CAST 


77 


was that town. The boldness and daring of the pro- 
ject took my breath away ; but I could conceive of 
nothing that was so likely to cause consternation and 
terror as its successful issue to the great merchants of 
the city, and to mortify and enrage the Governor. 

It was a great enterprise — this attack — and one 
which, if the event went against us, would probably be 
the end of us all. But there was one thing that gave 
us an advantage, which, skilfully used, could not fail 
to be of such importance as to be almost in itself de- 
cisive. This was that the wine fleet had arrived safely 
at Galway year after year, without falling in with any 
danger other than that which came from the ordinary 
risks of the sea. Hence, the immunity they had so 
long enjoyed would breed in them a feeling of complete 
security, and dispose them to be careless of precau- 
tions. 

Still, I was staggered ; and what was passing through 
my mind being seen in my face, Grace O’Malley in- 
quired, a trifle disdainfully : 

“ Think ye, Ruari, the adventure too much for 
me ? ” — and the accent fell on the last word of the 
sentence. ‘‘ I tell you. Nay ! ” 

Nothing — nothing,” exclaimed I, wildly, “ is too 
high for you ! As for me, it is yours to command, 
mine to obey.” 

Then we took counsel together, first having sum- 
moned Tibbot the Pilot, and the other chiefs and 
officers who were in the galleys. When Grace O’Malley 
had made her purpose known there was at first the 
silence of stupefaction, then there followed the rapid, 
incoherent, impulsive exclamations of fierce and savage 
glee. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


78 

While we were occupied in this manner, a fishing 
smack had come into the bay, and on it were the pipers 
Phelim and Cormac and some others of our men, whom 
we had been forced to leave behind, but who had 
made their way out of Galway, being secretly helped 
therein by the fisherfolk who dwelt in a village by 
themselves without the gates. These brought word 
that the city was in a state of great alarm, and that 
the Governor had declared that he would not rest 
until he had sent out an expedition to raze Grace 
O’Malley’s castles to the ground, to destroy her galleys, 
and to blot out her name from Ireland. 

Nothing had been needed to add to our determina- 
tion, but, if need there had been, here it was. We 
were now all proclaimed rebels and traitors, so that 
we could look for nothing but torture and death at 
the hands of the English. A price would soon be 
placed upon our heads, and whoever wrought us a mis- 
chief or an injury of any kind would be considered as 
doing the Queen a service. 

Such was our situation. To most of our people the 
Queen of England was no more than an empty name, 
and even to those of us who appreciate the might and 
resources of that princess, it appeared better that we 
should be aware of who were our foes and who were 
our friends, and if her representative. Sir Nicholas 
Malby, were our open enemy, as we were now well 
assured he was, we knew with whom our quarrel lay, 
and what we might expect from him. 

When all was said, the Governor had no overwhelm- 
ing force at his disposal, and he was without ships, so 
that we felt no whit downcast with our lot ; contrari- 
wise, there was such gladness amongst us at the prom- 


THE DIE CAST 


79 

ise of the fighting with which our circumstances were 
pregnant, that the hearts of any who doubted were up- 
lifted and made firm and steadfast. 

As we were discussing our affairs Eva O’Malley en- 
tered the cabin. As our eyes met she smiled upon me, 
and held out her hand in greeting. 

“ ’Twas well done,” said she, referring to our es- 
cape from Galway, her thoughts still dwelling on the 
adventures of the past night. But when she heard of 
what we had been speaking, and of the proposed at- 
tack on the wine fleet, her sweet face became pale and 
troubled. 

“ Darkness and blood,” said she, turning to me. 

Oh ! Ruari, the words of the Wise Man are to be ful- 
filled.” 

“ What must be, must be,” said I, “ and there is 
none can gainsay that.” 

She shook her head. 

“ Eva,” said Grace O’Malley, “ the end is as it is ap- 
pointed from the beginning.” Then she began to 
reason gently with her foster-sister, and to show her 
that if the English found they had good reason to fear 
her they would gladly consent before long to make 
peace, and to concede what she had asked of Sir 
Nicholas. 

But it was easy to see that my dear was sad and 
heavy of heart. Grace, ever most tender to her, put 
her arms about her, and made her sit beside her on a 
couch, and said many loving words, so that Eva was 
comforted, albeit some of her brightness vanished from 
that day, never to return. Although she had already 
shown how brave she was, and to exhibit a courage 
far greater than my own or that of any man I ever 


8o 


GRACE O MALLEY 


knew — her courage being that born of the spirit and 
ours but of the body — she surely was never made for 
that hard life of ours. 

Gentle and sweet was she, yet the strain of the 
O’Malley blood ran in her veins, and made itself felt 
whenever the trials of her strength came. 

Leaving the two ladies together, each went to his 
place in the ships. Some of my men, who had been 
ashore, now returned and informed me that they had 
learned that it was the annual custom to light a great 
fire on the headland of Arran, on which stands the 
ruins of the ancient castle called Dun Aengus, as soon 
as the vessels of the wine fleet hove into sight. 

The smoke of this fire, if it were day, or the flame 
of it if it were night, was a signal to the merchants of 
Galway, who, as soon as they saw it, made prepara- 
tions for the reception of the ships — this being the 
chief event each year in the life of the town. To the 
end that the office of this beacon should be better ful- 
filled, they had placed a small body of soldiers and 
others in huts that stood between the crumbling walls 
of the old fort. 

I debated with myself whether it would not be more 
prudent to have the lighting or the not lighting of the 
fire in my own power, but, being in no little doubt, 
put the matter off until later in the day. By the mid- 
dle of the afternoon, however, there were abundant 
evidences that the weather, which had for days past 
been fine, was about to change, and as the sun fell, 
dark clouds were gathering sullenly in the sky, the 
wind from the southwest was blowing stormily across 
the island — though our galleys felt it not at all, being 
under the lee of the land — and already we could hear 


THE DIE CAST 


8l 


the thunder of the waves as they rushed upon the 
further coast. And all the night through a tempest 
of terrible violence raged. 

When the morning came the fury of the gale rather 
increased than diminished, and so that day and the 
next, when the winds and waves began to subside, we 
remained at anchor in our harbor, safe from the storm. 
On the night of the third day the wind died down t^/ 
a breeze, and the moon struggled fitfully through th?, 
scud and drift of the clouds. 

Uncertain as to how the storm might shift, the gal- 
leys had been kept ready to put out from the shore at 
any moment, and therefore it fell out that nothing had 
been done by us with regard to the Galway men at 
Dun Aengus. In the middle watch, it being very 
dark save when the moon shone out, to be hidden 
again as fast as it appeared, we saw a bright tongue 
of flame shoot up, flashing and shining brightly against 
the blackness of the sky. Quickly raising our anchors, 
we made off past the island of Inishmaan, and on by 
Inisheer, until we ran close in by the point of Traw- 
keera. 

I wondered how it was that on such a night the 
watchman at Dun Aengus had made out the coming 
of the fleet, but discovered as we went upon our 
course, that another beacon had been lit far down the 
southern coast, and as soon as they had seen it they 
set a torch to their own. Thus were we also ap- 
prised of the coming of the wine fleet, and that by the 
hands of the people of Galway themselves, as it were. 
As the day began to dawn, grayly and drearily, a large, 
unwieldy Spanish galleon entered the South Sound, 
about half a league outside of Trawkeera. Not more 
6 


82 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


than half her sails were set, and she rolled heavily from 
side to side in the swell left by the storm. A few 
sleepy sailors stood in the waist of the ship, and no 
armed watch was to be seen. 

It had been arranged between Grace O’Malley and 
myself that I was to attack the first vessel that came 
in sight, and in the still, spectral light, we stole silently 
out from the shadow of Inisheer, the one great main- 
sail of The Cross of Blood being set, and the oars 
shipped until the word was given. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA '' 

As we crept on towards the unsuspecting merchant 
ship, I noticed that she presented a battered appear- 
ance, as if she had felt the full' fury of the storm which 
we had ridden out so safely, and that she had not 
come out of it without much damage. 

The foremast had been broken off, and now a great 
spar lashed to the stump had taken its place. About 
the middle of the vessel the bulwark showed a breach 
some five feet in length, and a piece of rough sailcloth 
had been fastened carelessly over it, so that the ragged 
edges of the broken wood were plainly seen jutting out 
from under it. 

Doubtless the sailors were worn out with the stress 
of the working of their ship through the tempest, and 
this also accounted for the slackness of the watch and 
the ghostly quietness on board. 

Otherwise, she was a splendid ship, the like of which 
was seen at no other time in these seas, .save only when 
the wine fleet came each year to Galway. She was 
built with high castles both at the stern and at the 
bows ; and she was, perhaps, of two hundred tons’ 
burden, according to the measure of the English. 

Her name, cut out of solid wood and painted a deep 
blue, was the Capitana, She flew the flag of Philip 

83 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


84 

of Spain, and along with it at the stern were to be seen 
the ensigns of some gentlemen adventurers, who were 
in her, and who probably commanded her fighting 
men, or who had accompanied the expedition merely 
for the sake of seeing another part of the world. 

For the galleon’s defense against the rovers of the 
sea, who were to be found in great numbers off the 
French and English coasts, she showed her teeth in 
the guise of the black muzzles of twelve cannons, all 
formidable ordnance, and, armed with this equipment, 
as compared with that of The Cross of Bloody looked 
as if she might devour us at her leisure and with the 
utmost ease. 

But it was not my purpose that these guns should 
ever be pointed at us, and so high were they out of 
the water — far above us, in fact — that there was 
no such terrible danger to be apprehended on this 
score. Besides, we were now too near her, and she was, 
in any case, unprepared. 

When we had approached within four hundred yards 
of the Capitana, I gave orders that the sail of The Cross 
of Blood should be lowered to the deck quickly, and 
yet as quietly as might be, and that the rowers should 
get them to their oars, and speed us with all their 
might towards the Spanish ship. 

So well w^as this effected that we were but, as it 
seemed, a stone’s throw from her, and the beak of the 
galley, as she rose to the swell, pointed straight for the 
breach made by the storm in the waist of the galleon, 
when the watch on board of her had their suspicions 
all too tardily aroused. If they had heard the noise 
made by the running of the tackle when the sail was 
got down, they had not grasped its meaning ; but they 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA ” 8$ 

could hardly fail to guess readily enough what our ap- 
pearance indicated as we dashed towards them, our 
deck showing an array of arquebusiers and spearmen, 
standing to their weapons. 

The men of the Capitana began to rush to and fro, 
and suddenly the clear notes of a trumpet blared forth 
from her poop — the all-too-late summons to arms. 
Her helmsmen, now alert to the danger which menaced 
them endeavored to swing her round on her heel into 
the wind, so as to keep us off. 

We had stopped rowing, and our men were resting 
with their hands on the handles of their oars, waiting 
for the order to ship them, when, as the Spaniard went 
about, her side caught the oars on the right side of the 
galley, and I heard the sharp cracking and splintering 
of the wood of which they were made as they were 
broken in pieces, and the piercing cries, most lament- 
able to the ear, of the rowers as they were knocked 
from their benches and jammed together, a huddled, 
mangled mass of shrieking and cursing, of wounded 
and dying men. 

Amid the din and outcry which attended this disaster 
to us, there arose the voice of Calvagh O’Halloran, the 
master of the rowers, encouraging, directing, and calm- 
ing the others. What had befallen us was a serious 
matter, as it deprived us of any hope of getting away 
from the Capitana if our attack should prove unsuc- 
cessful. 

I ran along the deck, telling our people to be of 
good heart, as all would yet be well ; and, as nothing 
so inspired them as the war-cry of their tribe and the 
lust of fighting, I shouted loud and clear: — 

“ O’Malley ! O’Malley ! O’Malley ! ” 


86 


GRACE O MALLEY 


The swinging of the Spaniard fended the galley off 
from her, so that there was a clear space for the 
breadth of a couple of oars or a little more. As Cal- 
vagh got the rowers at work again, and The Cross of 
Blood went forward, the sides of the two ships grated 
together with a shock. They ground apart once 
again, and the water swished and swirled between 
them, foaming white and flecked with red, as the blood 
of the rowers who had been injured dripped from the 
galley. 

“ On board, on board ! ” I cried. “ A ring of gold 
to him who first boards her,” and I threw my battle- 
ax among her sailors. “ Follow that ! ” I said. 

The Irish were howling about me like hungry wolves 
and The Cross of Blood shivered and trembled like a 
living thing as the rowers, Calvagh at their head, 
rushed from the benches, eager to revenge themselves 
for the death of their comrades of the oar, yelling 
hoarsely : — 

“O’Malley! O’Malley! O’Malley ! ’’—the words 
stinging the ear like a blow. 

Now the sides of the vessels strained and groaned 
as again they smote together. The grappling-irons 
were fastened as they touched each other, and, regard- 
less of the thrusts made at us, we together clambered 
up the Capitands side, entering by the breach over 
which the sailcloth had been stretched, and were im- 
mediately engaged in a hot and bloody fight, the issue 
of which stood in no kind of doubt from its commence- 
ment, as we far outnumbered the sailors in this part of 
the Spaniard. 

One burly fellow came at me with a pike, but so un- 
certainly that I caught it from him with my left hand. 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA ” 87 

and ran him through with the sword in my right. He 
dropped without a sound at my feet. 

But while this contest was going on, and we were 
sweeping all before us, we soon were made to feel that, 
while so far successful, we were yet in a position of the 
greatest peril ; for we were now assailed by shots from 
arquebuses fired down upon us both from the castle at 
the bows and that at the poop as well, and the air 
hummed with the arrows of our foes. 

As there was no cover or protection of any kind 
where we stood, divers of our men fell sorely wounded, 
and some were slain outright. What the event was to 
bring forth then seemed nothing but our destruction, 
for we were caught, as it were, in a trap, and that one 
of our own making. 

The doors leading into the castles were both shut, 
and, I conjectured, barricaded by this time against us. 
However, to remain where we were was to be slaugh- 
tered like cattle, and the attempt had to be made to 
force these entrances. The principal array of the 
enemy was in the poop-castle, and I instantly decided 
that it must be stormed else we should all perish mis- 
erably, and to break in the door was the readiest way. 

Calling on the Irish to follow me, I strode across the 
slippery deck, a bullet narrowly missing me, to the 
arched doorway through which lay the way to the 
castle on the poop. 

Whether it was that our assault had been so little 
looked for, or what had already taken place had occu- 
pied so brief a breath, as one may say — for who can 
take count of time in the heat of battle ? — I know 
not ; but this entrance had not been strongly secured, 
for hurling myself impetupusly with all my force 


88 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


against the barrier I burst the door open, and that so 
violently and quickly that I had much ado to keep my- 
self from stumbling, and so being trampled upon and 
killed by my own men. Recovering myself with an 
effort, I found myself in a wide chamber, in which 
there were tables and chests and other furniture, but 
not a single soul was to be seen. 

At one end of it was a flight of steps leading up to 
the deck of the castle. Stopping my men, I bade them 
wait in this sheltered room while I ascended the steps, 
and reached another large cabin, also deserted as far as 
I could see, while above me I heard the trampling of 
many feet. Summoning my followers, I dashed up a 
second flight of steps, the Irish, who gave tongue like 
bloodhounds tracking deer, pushing in and swarming 
up behind me. 

I was like enough to have paid for my rashness with 
my life, for as I emerged upon the deck of the poop, 
the point of a sword flashed off my body-armor, and I 
received so shrewd a buffet upon my shoulder from a 
mace or battle-ax of some kind, that I nearly lost my 
footing, and as it was, would have done so but for the 
press of men behind me. 

As I appeared a crowd of Spaniards rushed upon me 
from all sides, praying to Our Lady and all the saints 
for their aid, and above all naming “ Santiago.” 

Now sweeping my sword in a great shining circle 
round my head, now stabbing and hacking and cleav- 
ing, while my strength seemed to grow with my ne- 
cessity, I held them at bay, albeit in what way I es- 
caped the deadly thrusts of spears and pikes, and the 
bullets aimed at me at such close quarters, I cannot tell. 

Two or three slight wounds did I receive, and the 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA " 89 

sight of my own blood drove me into a perfect fury of 
killing, and rendered me regardless of myself ; but as 
for the wounds themselves I heeded them not, and in- 
deed in the fiery heat of that encounter scarce felt them 
at all. Soon, however, would I have been overborne 
and destroyed, if I had not been joined by Calvagh 
and the others, who charged upon the enemy with in- 
conceivable fury. 

Nothing could have stood before the tremendous 
outpouring of such incredible rage. 

The gallant men of Spain fought on and met us 
bravely, brave with something more than the courage 
which is born of dark despair. For, to say the truth, 
never yet saw I any of that nation, even of its com- 
monality, that might be called a coward. 

It is my belief, and good reason have I for it, that 
no more doughty men ever wielded sword or pike than 
those of Spain, nor were there any better sailors in 
those days in all the world. There be many, who, 
having regard to what she was — this great power of 
Spain — and considering what has happened to her, and 
how she is now shorn to no small degree of her glory, 
can account for it in no other way than by saying that 
she lieth under the Wrath of God. Howbeit, this is 
too high a matter for me. Only knew I full well that 
the crew of the Capitana, whether fighting men or 
sailors, made such a stern and grim battle against us 
that gray morning in the Bay of Galway, as the most 
valiant knights could not have bettered. 

Near the center of the poop there rose up a mast, 
afld around this our enemies gathered in a cluster, 
among them being some half-armed men whom I took 
to be the adventurers whose ensigns floated beside the 


90 GRACE O’MALLEY 

Standard of the galleon, and who carried themselves 
with an air. 

They had had no time to have their armor put upon 
them and fastened with proper care, but as they proved 
themselves to be accomplished swordsmen they made 
a determined resistance to us. If they had come at 
me when I appeared at the top of the steps, I should 
never have reached the deck of the poop alive ; they 
had, however, tarried too long in the attempt to be 
clothed with their harness. 

They were surrounded, and, though I offered them 
their lives, declaring that they would be held for ran- 
som and would be well treated by Grace O’Malley, 
they would not listen to me, preferring rather to die, 
fighting, so long as the breath was in them, like the 
valiant men of Spain they were. 

One only, who appeared to be the captain of the 
ship, I commanded to be taken alive, — a business which 
was done with difficulty, so madly did he struggle, not- 
withstanding that the blood flowed in streams from 
several of his wounds. 

“ Yield yourself,” said I, “ Sefior Captain, for the ship 
is ours, and further fighting is useless. Give me your 
parole.” 

But he refused, snarling and showing his teeth like 
a mad dog. Then I ordered him to be bound, and laid 
on the deck for the present. 

The greater part of the galleon was now in our hands, 
but there still remained a band of Spaniards in the 
forecastle, who galled us with the fire from their pieces 
and the arrows of their bows. When they saw how 
their comrades had been overcome on the poop castle, 
they cut down the spar which had been lashed to the 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA 


91 


broken foremast, and using it and the sailcloth about 
it as a kind of barricade, went on firing at us from be- 
hind this shelter. 

Telling Calvagh, who had come out of the fight 
without a scratch, to take what men he thought need- 
ful, I directed him to attack the forecastle, and at the 
same time, protected his assault of it by a discharge 
from the poop of a small cannon I found there loaded. 
This position of the Spaniards, however, was one of 
such strength, that they inflicted heavy loss upon us 
before they were all put to the sword. 

We were now masters of the entire vessel, but its 
capture had cost us dear. Fifteen of the Irish were 
killed, and as many more wounded, several of them 
seriously ; and when the sun rose across the dim out- 
line of the hills away beyond Galway its rays fell upon 
decks that ran dark with blood, and upon a wearied 
band of men, whose gasping breath came and went in 
sobs of pain, now that the excitement was past, and 
who threw themselves down in sheer exhaustion. I 
myself was soon spent, but the day was only begun, 
and the rest of the wine fleet might come into view at 
any moment. Therefore I bade my men rise up as 
soon as they had rested somewhat, and then endeavored 
to put the Capitana into sailing trim. 

While this was being done I shaped our course for 
Inisheer, remaining on the Capitana myself with some 
of my crew, and sending Calvagh to take charge of The 
Cross of Blood. I also had the captain of the galleon 
brought before me to see if I could get any information 
from him about the other ships of the fleet. 

“ Sefior Captain,” said I, “ the chance of war has 
delivered you and your ship to me. Ye fought well. 


92 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


and I am grieved that so many valiant souls no longer 
see the light ; yet would I have spared them, as many 
as I could, but they would not. You are in no danger 
of your life, if you will but answer the questions I ask 
of you.” 

I spoke in English, my knowledge of Spanish being 
slight, but I judged that the captain of a ship trading 
to Ireland, and particularly to the English city of Gal- 
way, would be certain to understand the English 
tongue. At first it appeared, however, as if he did not 
comprehend my words. 

“ Kill me, kill me ! ” he exclaimed in Spanish, while 
his face was distorted with impotent rage. 

Replying to him mildly that I had no intention of 
putting him to death, I informed him that I had no 
sufficient acquaintance with his own language, and 
therefore I was unable to converse with him in it.” 

“You surely understand English,” said I. 

One of the Irish who was on guard over him thrust 
a dagger into him for an inch or more before I knew 
what he would be about, whereupon the Spaniard 
cursed him and us and himself and his ship and the 
day he was born in as good English as ever I heard. 

“ I shall tell you nothing,” said he. “ No, by St. 
Jago, nothing, nothing, nothing!” 

I felt a pity for the man, and told one of those stand- 
ing near me to fetch him some wine, if he could find 
any in the galleon, and again asked him if he were 
resolved to die ; but he merely glared at me like a wild 
animal, and I left him alone, reserving him to be ques- 
tioned by Grace O’Malley. 

When the wine was brought he drank it thirstily, 
saying, “ If it is poisoned, so much the better.” 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA 


93 

And now we drew near again to Inisheer. Round- 
ing the Point of Trawkeera, we dropped anchor beside 
the two other galleys, and my mistress came on board 
of our prize. When I told her of the great fight the 
Spaniards made, and what it had cost us to take the 
ship, she sighed and became pensive. 

“We can ill afford so many men,” she said, “but 
the other ships of the wine fleet may be captured or 
destroyed more easily. Bring the captain of the gal- 
leon to me, and let me see if I can learn anything from 
him of his companions.” 

“ He will say nothing,” I exclaimed. 

Grace O’Malley’s face grew dark, but she merely 
repeated her command. When the Spanish captain 
was fetched in he was struck with amazement when 
he beheld a woman, young, handsome, and, as some 
thought, beautiful, who appeared to be the chief and 
leader of us all. At first he gazed at her as one who 
sees an apparition or a phantom. 

“ Madre de Dios ! Madre de Dios ! ” he said aloud 
in his astonishment, and for some time acted as one 
might who suspected that his sense of sight was play- 
ing him a trick. He was faint and pale from loss of 
blood, and presented a piteous appearance. 

“ Free him from his bonds,” said Grace O’Malley, 
and I cut away the thongs that held him. 

“ Seflor Captain,” continued she when this had been 
done, “ I have a quarrel with the Governor of Con- 
naught and the people of Galway, who have treated me 
despitefully, — therefore has your galleon been taken.” 

“ You, Senorita ! ” he said. 

“ I was beguiled with fair words and promises,” said 
she, “ and then they made me a prisoner, but I escaped 


94 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


from them. War have I declared against them, and a 
great revenge shall I take. You, I hear, are a brave 
man, and I have need of such in this contest with the 
English. Will you join me? ” 

“ That will I not,” said he, and I heard him mutter- 
ing to himself, “ She is a devil.” 

“ Better consider before you speak,” said I, seizing 
his arm roughly. 

“ Let me be, let me be,” said he, “for I am a dying 
man ! ” And swooned upon the deck. Reviving in 
a few minutes, he staggered to his feet, whereupon I 
put my arm round him for his support. 

“ Where are the other ships of the fleet, tell me,” 
said Grace O’Malley, “and how many are there? ” 

“You can kill me,” said he, “and I shall thank 
you for it, but that which I know I shall never tell 
you.” 

And again I heard him muttering, “ Devil, devil ! ” 
and calling upon Santiago to protect him from her 
spells. 

Grace O’Malley gazed at him, and of a sudden there 
was in her eyes — what I never looked to see in them 
on such an occasion — a dew of tears springing from 
an unsuspected fount of pity. After all, she was a 
woman, as I have said. 

“ You are a brave man and a true,” said she, “and I 
will not plague you more. Let him die in peace,” cried 
she to me, “ if die he must.” 

As I was about to place him with his back against 
a mast so as to ease him, he made a snatch at the 
dagger which was in my belt ; his fingers closed over 
it, but even as he grasped it his lips parted and his 
spirit fled. 


THE CAPTURE OF THE “ CAPITANA " 95 

“ God rest thee, thou gallant mariner of Spain,'’ said 
Grace O’Malley, when she saw that the captain of the 
galleon was dead. 

“ Amen,” cried I, for the firmness of the man had 
seemed to me a very noble thing. 


i.... :• w ! f'-f. 


CHAPTER IX 


A CHEST OF GOLD 

The day had worn on to noon but without its bright- 
ness, for the sky had again become full of heavy clouds 
driven up from the west ; the wind moaned and raved 
over land and sea, and the waves beat drearily upon 
the shore. The thunder rolled and the lightning 
flashed, while the pelting rain came down in huge 
drops that sounded on our decks like hail or the crack- 
ing of whips. 

The ensanguined waters flowed in floods from the 
planking and the sides of the captured galleon, which 
lay like some great wounded monster of the deep, 
sweating blood. Closer into the land we steered, and 
so saved ourselves from the worst of the gale. 

For the present all thoughts of searching for the 
other vessels of the fleet had to be given up, and fain 
was I to rest, for my wounds, though slight, were sore, 
and the dull aching of my shoulder was hard to bear. 
Seeing my state, Grace O’Malley bade me go to her 
own galley, where Eva would attend to my wounds with 
her gentle fingers, and then perhaps, sing me to sleep 
with one of the songs of her people. 

This command went so well with every beating 
of my heart that my pains were all but forgotten, and 
when I reached The Gray Wolfy Eva met me, and waited 
96 


A CHEST OF GOLD 


97 


upon me, and made so much of the “ Mountain of a 
Man,” as she often called me, that the only pangs I 
felt were those caused by my love for her — so much 
so that the tale of it was trembling on my lips, though I 
could not for the life of me put it into words, but dumb- 
ly looked, and longing — looked again and again at her. 

Fool that I was, dolt that I was, not to have spoken 
then ! But my tongue was tied, as with a ribbon of 
steel, and if one were to ask me why this was, I could 
not tell, nor can I now, looking back across the blunt 
edge of years. Yet here was such an opportunity, if I 
could have grasped it, but it passed. 

Eva sang softly to me as I lay with my harness off on 
a couch, until I fell a-sleeping and a-dreaming, and all 
through the sleeping and the dreaming did I hear the 
sound of her singing, far off, indistinctly, and mur- 
murous, like that of the brooks among the silent hills. 

When I awoke it was evening, and both she and 
Grace O’Malley were seated by my side. The storm 
had abated, and already a weak, watery moon was 
riding in the heavens, and, as I opened my eyes, its 
faint beams fell whitely upon the faces of my mis- 
tresses, so that to me, being still only half awake, 
they looked like spirits. I rose to a sitting posture, 
and felt that my strength had come back to me. 

“ Has your weariness left you ? ” asked Grace 
O’Malley, smiling kindly at me. 

For answer I stretched my limbs and my body, and 
smiled at her without speaking, though the pain in my 
shoulder still troubled me, and I could not move with- 
out feeling it. 

“ While you have slept, Ruari,” she went on, “ I 
have gone over as much of the galleon as might be, in 
7 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


98 

the hours of daylight at my disposal, and the riches in 
her are truly wonderful. Never saw I so great a store 
of all manner of things of value in a ship before. 'Tis 
a splendid spoil, and the merchants of Galway will have 
good cause to remember me, and Sir Nicholas will be 
beside himself with rage.” 

“ We have not yet finished with them or with Sir 
Nicholas,” said I. “ The Capitana is not the only ship 
of the wine fleet.” 

“ Neither has Sir Nicholas done with us, I fear,” said 
Eva, sadly, “ nor the people of Galway.” 

“ Sometimes it seems to me, Eva,” said Grace to her 
foster-sister, “ as if you were only half an O’Malley.” 
Then she turned to me again. “ Ruari, I have more, 
to tell about the galleon. On board of her there is a 
chest of gold — all money of Spain, coined pieces, bear- 
ing the effigy of the late Emperor Charles. Now, 
hearken ! A strange, wild story goes with this chest 
of gold, and there is that in it which may concern us 
very closely.” 

“ Yes,” I said, my interest being keenly stirred as I 
guessed from the slow and almost solemn way in which 
she addressed me, that she had stumbled probably on 
some mystery of the sea — something, at any rate, un- 
expected and out of the way, and yet something that 
might touch us nearly. “Yes,” I said, watching her 
intently, “it is naught of evil import for us, surely? ” 

“ That I know not as yet,” she replied. “ Rather 
does it portend a benefit ; time alone can tell. This 
is how we came to find the gold, and we might never 
have gotten it of ourselves — we were told of it.” 

“ How was that ? ” 

“ While our search through the galleon was being 


A CHEST OF GOLD 


99 


.made, two men, bound in fetters and chained together, 
were discovered in a small, dark den, low down in the 
ship ; a hole, indeed, so cunningly concealed from ob- 
servation that even the very sailors on board the 
Capitana might not have known of its existence, if its 
being hidden from them were deemed necessary or ex- 
pedient. The men were half-starved, and so utterly 
wretched that when they were brought into the light 
they were as the blind, and gibbered like idiots. What 
they say, now that they have come to themselves, is 
pitiful enough, and I believe they are telling the 
truth.” 

“Who are they? ’’asked I, as she meditated on their 
story. “ What account do they give of themselves ? 
You have said nothing about the chest of gold.” 

“ One of them,” said she, “ tells me that he is a 
Geraldine, a near relative of Garratt, Earl of Des- 
mond.” 

“ An Irishman ! ” I broke in. 

“Yes, so he says, and I doubt it not,” said she. 
“The other is a Spaniard, Don Francisco de Vilela by 
name, a man of rank, if one may judge of him from 
his speech and carriage. But you will see them your- 
self shortly.” 

“ What is their explanation of their being prisoners 
on board of the galleon ? Is it concerned with the 
chest of gold ? ” 

“ Yes, so they say,” she replied ; “ and they relate 
that before the Capitana left Spain they made a bar- 
gain with its captain to convey them to Ireland for a 
certain sum of money, which they paid over to him 
before he put out from port. Their compact with 
him was that they were to be landed at some lonely 


100 


GKACK O’MALLEY 


point or secluded place on our western coasts, and not 
at any town, such as Limerick or Galway.” 

** Why was that ? ” I asked. “ Doubtless the captain 
of the galleon made a similar inquiry of them.” 

“They say he asked them no questions whatever,” 
replied she ; “ but he must have understood that they 
had some business of very private nature, probably 
concerned with state affairs. Evidently that business 
lay with the native Irish, and not with the English, 
from whom they wished their movements to be kept 
secret, else would there have been no need to have 
avoided any of the English towns in Ireland.” 

“ It may be,” said I, for I could not help seeing the 
drift of her words, “ that they are the bearers of some 
message from the King of Spain to the Earl of Des- 
mond, or some other chief of the Irish.” 

“You do not fall very short of the mark,” said she. 

“ But,” asked I, “ how came it about, or what hap- 
pened to cause them to be thrust into chains, and that 
on board a Spanish ship? Those who brought a mes- 
sage from the Spanish King would surely hav^e been 
well-treated, and even honored by the captain of a ship 
coming out of Spain. Plainly, there is something here 
which fits not in with their narration.” 

“ They say that it was because of the chest of gold,” 
she replied. “ The captain is dead, so that we shall 
never hear his version of the affair, but they affirm he 
could not withstand the temptation of the gold. Brave, 
as we know he was, and an excellent sailor, as they say 
he was reputed to be, yet would he have sold his very 
soul for gold.” 

“ How did he know of it ? ” 

“ So heavy a chest could hardly have been brought 


A CHEST OF GOLD 


lOI 


on board without his knowledge, and to conjecture 
what it contained was no such difficult matter. They 
did not conceal from him their anxiety for its safe- 
keeping, and one or other of them was always on guard 
over it. Any one would have known, therefore, that 
it held a treasure of some kind. All went well until 
they reached the coast of Kerry, when, reminding the 
captain of their agreement with him, they requested 
him to send them, the chest, and the rest of their be- 
longings ashore in a boat. The sea was very rough, 
however, and he assured them the thing was impossible. 

“ That might well have been the case,” said I. 

“They therefore confided to him — what he most 
likely knew already — that they had come over on a 
secret embassy from the King of Spain, and besought 
him, by his fidelity to his King, to put them ashore. 
He protested that their landing at the time would be 
attended with difficulty, and even danger, and again 
refused their request. 

“ They expostulated with him, but in vain ; he was 
not to be moved, having already, they say, determined, 
that they should never deliver their message. Next 
they offered him a large sum of money, and, when he 
asked where they were to get it from, told him of the 
gold, but without informing him of the amount they 
had in the chest. Still, he would not give way, and, 
at length, on their continuing to urge him, he became 
sullen, angry and abusive, hurling many hurtful words 
at them in his wrath. His real reason, they began to 
fear, was not the roughness of the sea, for some shel- 
tered bay or inlet with calm water might have easily 
been reached, had he so desired, but that he had re- 
solved to possess himself of their treasure.” 


102 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ They had played into his hands by speaking of the 
contents of the chest," I said. 

“ That was their mistake, and they have had to re- 
pent themselves of it. That same night, while they 
slept, they were seized, put into manacles, and thrown 
into the close and filthy den in which they were dis- 
covered by us. 

“ They saw the captain but once after their imprison- 
ment, and he had told them — for their comfort — that 
it had been his original intention to fling them over- 
board, but that he had changed his mind, and would 
deliver them up, instead, to the English Governor of 
Connaught, when the ship arrived at Galway, as plot- 
ters against the peace of Ireland. Then they never 
would be heard of again, for all men knew of what sort 
of stuff Sir Nicholas Malby was made, and how short 
and sharp were his dealings with those Avho con- 
spired against the Queen, once they were in his 
power." 

This was an evil hearing in regard to one who in his 
dying had shown a not unmanly kind of virtue; but 
who is there that does not know that gold is for most 
men the god of the whole earth ? The story of the 
two struck me as being true, as it was stamped through 
and through with a sort of human naturalness. And 
I said as much. 

“ When the captain told them," continued Grace 
O’Malley, “ of the fate in store for them, they offered 
him all the gold they had in the chest if only he would 
let them go. But he answered them that it was his 
already, and that he had no intention of parting with 
it. If they lived, he would never feel safe — and the 
dead had no tongue. Hearing this, they gave up 


A CHEST OF GOLD I03 

all hope, and abandoned themselves to the gloom of 
despair, cursing the captain for his perfidy. 

“ Then the storm came on, and the galleon drove 
hither and thither with the tempest. Their wretched- 
ness increased, until they reflected that it would be 
better to perish by drowning than to live to undergo 
the torture and miserable death which Sir Nicholas 
would be certain to inflict upon them.” 

“ The tale,” I said, when I had pondered it for 
a few minutes, “ does not sound to me as if it were 
false.” 

‘‘It was so far confirmed,” said Grace O’Malley, 
“ inasmuch as the chest of gold, the possession of 
which worked their undoing, lay concealed in the cabin 
which the captain had occupied. For safekeeping I 
had it removed to this galley.” 

“ Did they tell you,” said I, my thoughts reverting 
to what, after all, was the most important part of their 
statements, “ what was the burden of their message 
from the King of Spain ? ” 

“Not fully,” she replied, “and I forbore from 
questioning them more narrowly until they had re- 
covered. They did say that Philip wishes well to 
Ireland, or rather, he loves not the English, who con- 
demn him to his face, and singe his very beard. They 
hinted that the King had sent Don Francisco to spy 
out the land, and to become acquainted with the wishes 
of the princes and chiefs of the island.” 

“ For what purpose ? To what end ? ” 

“To encourage them to rebel against the Queen, by 
giving them such help as is within his power. At the 
same time, he does not wish to appear to be concerned 
in the affairs of Ireland at all.” 


104 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


I had heard of Philip before as a man who was un- 
certain of purpose and infirm of will, timid when he 
should have been bold, and bold when he should 
have been timid ; one who covered himself and his de- 
signs with a cloak of clumsy cunning which it required 
no skill to see through, and of deceit which deceived 
none of the least discerning of his enemies. There- 
fore said I not a word, but contented myself to 
wait for what my mistress might say further on the 
matter. 

She was silent, however, and I could see from her 
rapt, indrawn look, that her thoughts had wandered 
far away from us and the galleys and the wine fleet — 
perhaps to Spain and its shifty king. I, too, was busy 
thinking, and as I conceived that we had affairs 
immediately before us of more importance than 
even Philip of Spain, I made bold to interrupt her 
reveries. 

“We can at least gather from the two men,’’ said I, 
“ how many ships were in the wine fleet. The rest of 
them cannot now be far off from us.” 

“Yes,” said she, rousing herself from her musings 
like one from slumber, “ they informed me that there 
were nine galleons in the fleet when they left Cadiz, 
four of them were bound for Limerick and five for 
Galway.” 

“ Then there are still four ships for us to fight,” I 
exclaimed. “ Let the chest of gold and the King of 
Spain wait, say 1. Would it not be well, now that the 
wind has fallen, to send one of the galleys to keep a 
lookout ? ” 

“ Tibbot the Pilot,” she replied, “already watches 
the Sound in The Winged Horse. The galleons will 


A CHEST OF GOLD 


105 

most likely have been separated from each other by 
the recent storms, but if any one of them comes into 
sight we will quickly be apprised of it.” 

“ Have you not hade nough of fighting for one day ? ” 
asked Eva. 

“ We have vowed vengeance on Galway,” I said, and 
Eva said no more, but sighed deeply. 

There was a knocking at the door of the cabin, and 
a servant entered with the message that Don Francisco 
de Vilela and Dermont Fitzgerald desired speech of 
Grace O’Malley, to thank her for her kindness to them. 
Permission being granted, the two men soon made 
their appearance. They had eaten, had washed them- 
selves, and were attired in fresh clothes taken from the 
supplies on board the galleon, and looked very different, 
I imagine, from what they had done when they had 
emerged from the hole in the Capitana, where they 
had been imprisoned. 

Both of them bowed with a profound reverence to 
my mistresses, and I took note, even in the half-light, 
of the contrast they made as they stood together. 
The Irishman was fair and ruddy, the Spaniard dark 
and swarthy, as most Spaniards are. Fitzgerald was 
tall — nearly as tall as myself — Don Francisco of the 
middle height, but having a very soldierly bearing and 
an air of resolution which his comrade lacked. Thus 
much I saw at a glance. 

De Vilela was the first to speak, and his accent had 
all the smooth deference of the court rather than the 
rough sincerity of the camp. 

“ Senorita,” said he, ‘‘ if you will suffer a poor gentle- 
man of Spain to offer you his thanks ” 

‘‘ Madame,” said the Irishman, interrupting him im- 


io6 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


pulsively, “ I never dreamed the day would come when 
I should be glad to be a prisoner ” 

“ Nay, nay !” quoth Grace O’Malley, “ no more of 
that, I beg.” 

The glance of the two men swept past her, de Vilela’s 
to fasten on Eva O’Malley, Fitzgerald’s on me, while 
my mistress made us known to each other. Then 
they entreated her to say what was her will in regard 
to them, and what ransom she demanded for their re- 
lease. But she replied that she had not yet determined, 
and so put them off. 

She conversed f«;r some minutes with de Vilela, 
speaking to him of the West Indies, whither, it ap- 
peared, he had been in one of the very ships for which 
Tibbot the Pilot was watching — the San Milan de 
Simancas. 

I now had had leisure to observe him more closely, 
and he gave me the impression of a man of high breed- 
ing. He discoursed with a tongue of winning sweet- 
ness, more like a woman’s than a man’s, and yet one 
had only to examine with a little carefulness the lines 
of his face to be convinced that these soft tones were 
like the fur over claws, and that there was nothing else 
of the feminine about him. 

His companion, Fitzgerald, was of a very differ- 
ent type, although he, too, was of knightly birth 
— rash, unstable, easily swayed, but generous and 
warm of heart, with quick, unstudied manners, and 
no capacity for much besides the wielding of his 
sword. 

Ever, as the Spaniard spoke his dark, eloquent eyes 
wandered from one to another of us, resting with an 
absorbed intensity longest on Eva — a thing in no wise 


A CHEST OF GOLD I07 

to be wondered at, but which I did not care to see, 
although I had no right to be jealous. 

And then there broke upon the hush of the night, 
now grown still and calm, the zip-zap-swish, zip-zap- 
swish of the oars of a galley, quickly driven by its 
rowers through the water; there was the low, clear call 
of Tibbot as The Winged Horse came up towards us, 
while at his word the oars hung motionless and glis- 
tening in the pale moonlight, and I went out to hear 
what tidings he brought. 

He reported that the tops of the masts of two large 
ships were to be seen on the horizon, and that there 
might be more, as the light was but faint owing to the 
clouds that still passed over the sky. I hastened back 
to inform my mistress of Tibbot’s news. The door of 
the cabin opened before I had reached it and Grace 
O’Malley appeared upon the scene, but before the 
door had closed behind her I saw that Don Fran- 
cisco was speaking earnestly to Eva, who, for her part, 
was listening to him with deep attention. 


CHAPTER X 


A woman’s wile 

“What news ?” demanded Grace O’Malley. 

Repeating Tibbot’s words to her, I asked what her 
commands were. 

“ This afternoon while you slept, Ruari,” she replied, 
“ the idea of a certain artifice or stratagem came into 
my mind, and the darkness of the night is so much in 
favor of its successful issue that there is no reason 
why it should not be attempted. It was suggested to 
me as I went over the stores of the galleon by the 
quantities of all manner of garments on board of 
her^*’ 

She had spoken very rapidly, being conscious that 
with the galleons not far away there was no time to 
spare. 

“ Enough, at present,” she continued. “ I will tell 
you more of it when I have made a disposition of our 
ships.” 

“The prisoners?” I questioned. “They can 
scarcely be expected to join us in an attack on Spanish 
ships, — even although these ships are in reality more 
the property of the merchants of Galway than of any 
others.” 

“ Transfer them,” said she, “ The Cross of Blood 
which I shall leave here under Calvagh’s charge. 
io8 


A woman’s wile 


109 

When you have seen them safely in his hands come to 
me — I shall be on the Capitanay 

“ The Capitana ! ” I exclaimed, surprised. 

“Yes,” said she. “In a little while you will see 
why I say the Capitanay 

I hurried off into the cabin, and telling Don Fran- 
cisco and Fitzgerald that they were to be put for the 
night aboard of my galley, and having whispered to 
Eva that there was something in the wind, but that I 
knew not quite what it was, I conducted the two men 
to The Cross of Bloody and delivered them over to 
Calvagh, bidding him keep a close guard over them. 
Then I got into a boat, and in a trice was on the 
Spanish galleon’s deck. 

Just as I reached it the clouds drifted from off the 
face of the moon, and as I looked up around me I 
could scarcely believe my eyes at what I saw. Paus- 
ing not to think, I placed my hand upon my sword, 
and had pulled it half-way out of its sheath, when a 
voice which I recognized as Tibbot the Pilot’s, sang 
out close to my ear, while there was a sputter of 
laughter in his throat, as he said — 

“ ’Tis a wise man who sometimes doubts his seeing 
aright, Ruari Macdonald. Know you not your friends 
from your foes ? ” 

Tibbot I perceived was not attired in the Irish fashion, 
but had discarded his saffron mantle and his long, wide- 
sleeved jacket, and had replaced them by a sober 
Spanish suit under which, one might be sure, was a 
shirt of mail. 

And now I noticed that the sailors who moved about 
us, getting the galleon ready for sea, were no more our 
own wild kernes of Mayo, but all mariners of Spain 1 


no 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“Tibbot,” said I, “ what is the meaning of this? 
Wherefore is this mummery ? ” 

“ ’Tis by our mistress’s order,” said he, “ and ’tis 
herself will have good reason for it, I’m thinking.” 
And his cheeks creased with laughter. 

Grace O’Malley had said something of a stratagem, 
— was this it ? One quicker of apprehension than 
myself would have seen what her intentions were, but 
I had to go and ask her for an explanation. 

And, lo, on the poop deck, where a few hours before 
there had been so great a struggle, I found, not my 
mistress, but a youthful, handsome, smiling, debon- 
naire knight of Spain, who yet had the eyes and the 
accents of our princess ! By her side there stood the 
captain of the Capitana^ risen from the dead, — or such 
a passable imitation of him in face and figure as might 
well have deceived the living. 

I stared stupidly at them both, — and then I under- 
stood. For the nonce, we were no longer O’Malleys 
or other free Irish rovers of the sea, but dons and 
sehors — if you please, — soldiers and sailors under the 
flag of Spain ; the Capitana for the time being had not 
been taken, but was still bound in all security for the 
port of Galway, — only haply, that being stayed by 
storms, she had taken shelter behind the island of 
Arran, from which she would presently emerge to meet 
the other galleons as they came up. 

And then — the thing was plain enough. 

A woman’s wit is a wonderful thing, and well is it for 
us men that the loves and the hates of women do dim the 
brightness of it, else would we be dazzled and blind and 
dumb all our days, and our strength be but a vain thing. 

“ What think you of my plot ? ” said the young 


A woman's wile III 

gentleman adventurer, this Spanish knight, who was 
my mistress. 

“ You are a great magician, senor ! ” said, I taking her 
humor. “ And what would you with this Ruari Mac- 
donald, — once the sworn servant of an Irish princess, 
known as Grace O’Malley ? ” 

“ By my faith,” cried she, “ I would not have him 
changed for all the world.” 

And the words were dear to me, so that my heart 
glowed within me — even as it does now at the memory 
of them. 

Then she spoke to me with some fulness of the snare 
she was preparing for the two galleons, now beating 
up towards the sound. 

It was the case no doubt, said she, that the five 
ships of the wine fleet had been scattered over the 
western seas by the storm, but that those Tibbot had 
seen had managed to keep by each other or had come 
together again, and were traveling as slowly as pos- 
sible with a view to picking up their companion vessel, 
and, further, that their sailing powers would most 
probably have been reduced by the damage wrought 
upon them by the tempest. 

Her purpose was to stand off and on in the Sound, 
maneuvering the Capitmia in such a way as to indi- 
cate that .she had also suffered violence of the wea- 
ther ; to allow the ships to come up within near hail 
of her, — which they would be certain to do as they 
could have no suspicion of what had befallen the 
Capitana^ especially as they would be able to see 
nothing strange in the appearance of the galleon, or in 
the dress of those on board of her ; and then to trust 
to the chances of the hour for the rest. 


II2 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


When I raised the objection that this plot of hers 
necessitated the absence of the galleys from the attack, 
she replied that no more than a bare guard had been 
left on board of them, and that she had as many as 
eighty men out of them, and had placed them on the 
Capitana, a number which she thought more than suf- 
ficient for the enterprise. 

“ If all goes well,” said she, “ I will myself lead the 
assault on the first ship, and Tibbot on the other — if 
they have to be fought together at the same time ; do 
you remain on the Capitana, for she must be seen to by 
one who is a seaman, and much may depend on the 
way in which she is managed. Besides, you must still 
be weary of the fight of a few hours ago. But circum- 
stances will guide us.” 

Surely,” said I, “ there is no need for you to expose 
yourself, and my fatigue is gone. 

“ Nay nay ! ” said she, “ let the thing stand.” 

The anchor was gotten up, and out beyond the point 
of Trawkeera went the ship, the moon now shining 
more clearly, and the stars showing here and there like 
diamonds through a scarf of clouds. And there, not 
more than a mile away, loomed up the two galleons 
for which we were on the watch. 

The wind was light, and the sails of the galleon, which 
was the nearer of the two to us, showed up in gray 
shadows against the velvety black of the sky. She was 
of the usual build of the merchant ship of Cadiz, with 
the same lumbering breadth, the same high castle 
poop and bows, and the same rig in every respect as 
had that which we had captured, and was of much 
the same size. Some distance behind her was her 
companion, and the two vessels were so much alike 


A woman’s wile 


II3 

that the second appeared to be the double of the 
first. 

As soon as we were within view, a lantern was waved 
three times towards us from the bows of the leading 
ship — a signal to which we responded by also waving a 
lantern three times, surmising that some such answering 
sign would be expected back in return. 

We waited with an anxious curiosity to see how this 
would be taken, and as we saw the dark figures of the 
watch hurrying, in evident alarm, to the bulwarks to 
gaze at us, and heard their voices raised in discussion 
coming faintly across the waters, we could not fail to 
understand that some other token had been looked 
for. 

In their perplexity they knew not what to make of 
us, and we could see plainly enough that there was an 
argument going on among them in respect of us. As 
the distance between us slowly lessened, their uncer- 
tainty and indecision were increased when they beheld, 
as we took excellent care they should, a few of the 
O’Malleys standing on the fore-deck of the Capitana, 
Even had it been as bright as day, they could not have 
imagined that, they were other than Spanish sailors 
like themselves. 

Our men had been ordered to remain quite still and 
silent, and under the moon, over which a web of cloud 
was being spun, they appeared like figures carved out 
of stone. 

The watchman on the bows of the galleon hailed us, 
and though his voice sounded clearly to us, we pretended 
not to hear ; he called again through the quiet of the 
night, and when we returned no answer, we could see 
that he ran with a sort of terror of he knew not what 
8 


1 14 GRACE O’MALLEY 

from his place, aud was lost in the darkness of the fore- 
castle. 

In the meantime we had come close up to her, her 
sailors bending blanched, fear-stricken faces over her 
bulwarks upon us, and perhaps thinking that they saw 
before them the fabulous ship of death, upon which for- 
ever sail the souls of those foully murdered on the sea, 
and which for the nonce had taken on the form of the 
Capitana to lure them to their doom, for never might 
human eyes behold that dreaded sight and live. 

The two ships were now so near each other that it 
required but a touch of the helm and the quick ringing 
word of command from Grace O’Malley — the statues 
sprang to life, and a host of the O’Malleys jumped on 
board the galleon at different points. 

It was all the work of a twinkling, so soon was the 
ship carried. The watch on deck were overpowered 
and made prisoners with scarcely a blow being struck, 
Tibbot crept through a window in the poop of the 
Spaniard, and, followed by a dozen of the Irish, had se- 
cured those who were asleep or half-awakened before 
they could make any resistance. In the forecastle alone 
was there any struggle, for there a handful of men 
stood to their weapons, and, refusing quarter, fought 
on till every one of them was slain. 

I had watched with straining eyes through the gloom 
for the form of that young Spanish knight who was 
my mistress, and, not seeing it anywhere, was in sore 
dismay ; not many minutes, however, went by — the 
action had moved with the speed which things change 
in a dream — when she appeared on the poop, as I 
thought. 

Nor was I mistaken, for she called to me to trim the 


A woman’s wile 


II5 

Capitana and to wear down upon the other galleon, 
which had changed her course, and was striving to 
make off southwards for the open sea. Her watch had 
given the alarm, and we could see the dark bodies of 
her crew and of her fighting men making to their posts. 

Sending back to me some of our Irish for the better 
working of the Capitana^ she caused the newly-captured 
vessel to be released from the grapplings and fastenings, 
by which I had had her bound to us while the attack 
was going on, and we swung apart. Crowding on sail 
in hot haste, we put about, and went in pursuit of the 
fleeing galleon, which not only had the start of us but 
now also appeared to be a better sailer than either of us, 
as we did not gain on her, but, on the contrary, rather 
fell back. 

It was apparent that she would escape us if we were 
to trust to our sailing powers alone. I had just 
determined to train one of the cannon on board the 
Capitana on to her, when a loud explosion shook the 
air. 

Of what had occurred, then and afterwards on the 
Santa Ana, as the ship Grace O’Malley had just taken 
was named, I was not a witness, nor was Tibbot, who 
told me of all of it, either; but it is narrated here just 
as I heard it. 

Seeing that there was a likelihood of the galleon, to 
which we were giving chase, showing us a clean pair of 
heels, she ordered Tibbot to the helm of the Santa 
Ana, and, telling him of what she intended, she hep 
self went among the prisoners, who were lying bound 
in different parts of the ship. 

Among them she found divers persons who under, 
stood the Irish tongue, and then, by both promises 


ii6 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


and threats, she compelled to bring before her the 
master of the ordnance and those who assisted him in. 
loading and firing the cannon. Surrounding these men 
with her own, each of whom had sword, spear, or battle- 
ax ready in his hand, she marched them to the fore- 
castle, and forced them, on pain of instant death, to 
serve the two great cannon which were in the bow- 
ports. The first discharge of these was the explosion 
I had heard. 

The balls from these pieces were so ineffective, pass- 
ing wide of the mark and splashing into the sea a con- 
siderable distance from the galleon, that her anger was 
kindled, and she warned the master of the ordnance 
that if he were not more successful on a second at- 
tempt she would not spare him, being assured that he 
was merely trifling with her. 

Whether it was because of the terrifying effect of 
her words, or because he was determined to give the 
galleon every opportunity for getting away from us, 
and was reckless of what became of himself, the suc- 
ceeding shots flew as wide as before. When Grace 
O’Malley perceived this she was transported with rage, 
and, crying that he had brought his fate upon his own 
head, ran him through with her sword. 

Had she not quickly interfered, all his companions 
would have been instantly despatched by the Irish, who 
were eager to emulate the example she had set them. 

Aghast at the death of the master of the ordnance, 
and suspecting that there was no hope of anything else 
for themselves, they cried out sharply, breathlessly, 
tremblingly, each protesting and vowing by all the 
saints that he would undertake to do whatever he was 
bid, if only his life were promised him. 


A woman’s wile 1 17 

Seeing from their look that they were likely to do 
as they said, but fearing lest they should be unstrung, 
being so wrought upon by their terror, she agreed that 
they should not be slain, but commanded them to 
choose from out of their number him who was the most 
skilful cannoneer, so that there should be no mistake 
in regard to the fit service of the ordnance. At the 
same time she told them that all their lives depended 
on him, for if he failed at the next discharge to damage 
the galleon, not only would he be immediately killed, 
but that all of them would likewise suffer instant death. 

They chattered for a second together, and then one 
of them, perhaps bolder or more desperate than the 
rest, stepped forward, and accepted her offer. 

Having warned him again, Grace O’Malley had the 
guns loaded once more, and stood over the man with 
drawn sword as he applied the burning match to the 
touch-hole of first one cannon and then of the other. 
When the smoke had cleared away, it was seen that 
the mainmast of the galleon had been shot through 
and had fallen over, so that it lay partly across her 
waist and partly was in the water. 

Thus impeded, the galleon almost at once lost her 
sea-way, and both the Santa Ana and the Capitana 
began rapidly to come up with her. Meanwhile shouts 
and shrieks resounded from her decks ; her sailors ran 
about in fear and confusion, but after awhile they 
appeared to be got into some kind of order, and, as a 
ball from her boomed across our bows, it was evi- 
dent that her captain was resolved to fight for his 
ship. 

As our vessels approached, we received a broadside 
from her which did us both no little harm, especially 


ii8 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


to our hulls and rigging, and a shot tore along the fore- 
castle of the Capitana in an oblique direction, killing 
two of my crew and wounding three or four men before 
it plunged into the sea. 

But it was impossible for her to prevent us from 
coming up alongside of her, and so soon as we had 
made ourselves fast to her our boarders poured in upon 
her. And thereupon ensued a battle not more terrible 
than obstinate, while the faint streak of a cold and 
troubled dawn stole upon us, shedding its gleams on 
the dead and dying as they lay in pools of blood upon 
her decks. 

No quarter was asked or given. Whom the sword 
or the battle-ax or the spear smote not, him the sea 
received, for many of the Spaniards, crying that all 
was lost, threw themselves from the galleon into the 
water and were drowned. There remained, however, 
towards the end of the fight a small company of arque- 
busiers and swordsmen upon the poop, and among 
them was the captain of the ship, his clothing stained 
and disordered, and a great, red sword in his hand. 

Seeing that no hope remained, he made signs that 
he wished to surrender, and begged that his life and 
the lives of those with him might be spared, to which 
Grace O’Malley straightway assented. 

As he walked towards her with his sword in his hand, 
with the purpose apparently of presenting it to her in 
token of his submission, he seemed to stumble on the 
planks, which were slippery with blood, and then, sud- 
denly recovering himself, he made a mad, swift rush 
forward, and would have wounded, perhaps killed, my 
mistress if his intention had not been guessed by Tib- 
bot, who in the very nick of time dashed aside the 


A woman’s wile 


II9 

point of the captain’s sword and brained him with his 
battle-ax. 

So incensed were the Irish at this act of treachery 
that they would show no mercy, and not a soul was 
left alive. 

Thus was the San Miguel, as she proved herself to 
be, taken. 

Our first care now was to return to Inisheer, so the 
three galleons were trimmed as well as was within our 
power, and our course was shaped for the island, where 
our three galleys lay, and which was reached in due 
time without our seeing any more ships of the wine 
fleet. 

And here we remained, among the islands of Arran, 
for several days, waiting for the other two galleons of 
which we had heard ; but as they did not come into 
sight, we conjectured that they had either put into 
some port in another part of Ireland or had been driven 
on the rocks and wrecked. 

Then we bore northwards, with the Spanish galleons 
and our three galleys, to a sequestered bay on the coast 
of lar Connaught, where we concealed in caves and 
other secret places well known to us a portion of the 
great treasure and of the rich stores that had been found 
in the merchant ships. Some of their ordnance was 
put on board the galleys and the rest cast into the 
sea. 

As for the galleons themselves, they were steered 
within a mile of the harbor of Galway, in full view of 
its walls, set on fire, and then sent adrift, blazing, in 
the bay ; while the prisoners, all save Don de Vilela 
and Fitzgerald, were landed on the coast, and left to 
make the best of their way to the city, where on their 


120 GRACE O’MALLEY 

arrival they published abroad all that Grace O’Malley 
had done. 

And I have not wit enough to describe the amaze- 
ment and anger of Sir Nicholas, nor the disappoint- 
ment and vexation of the merchants at the losses they 
had sustained through the destruction of the wine 
fleet. 

But homeward to Clew Bay we sailed, and little 
cared we. 


CHAPTER XI 


“ REDSHANK AND REBEL " 

Before we had left the Bay of Galway for the north 
I had been so constantly occupied with the unlading 
of the galleons, the disposal of our plunder, and the 
care and the landing of the prisoners, that I had got 
no more than glimpses of my mistresses, and then they 
were seldom alone. For de Vilela and Fitzgerald, 
although they had a cabin given them on The Cross of 
Bloody were but rarely on my galley during the hours 
of day, spending most of the time with the two ladies 
on The Gray Wolf. 

I perceived they were treated rather as honored 
guests than as captives, and I knew that Grace 
O’Malley held many long and earnest conversations 
with Don Francisco, the subject of which was ever the 
same — to wit, what Philip of Spain would do on be- 
half of the Irish if they rose in rebellion against the 
Queen. 

Now, it mattered not at all to me who was King or 
Queen of Ireland, whether it was Philip or Elizabeth 
who should be sovereign of the island, and I had as 
lief it were the one as the other. 

I owed no fealty to England or to Spain, and, being 
a Macdonald of the Isles, no more to the Queen, King, 
or Regent of Scotland than could be forced from us 

I2I 


122 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


Macdonalds of the West, and that was never over- 
much. But I was sworn to the service of Grace 
O’Malley, and if she preferred Spain to England, then 
it was Spain for me! Yet what I had heard of Philip 
made me conclude that the Irish would not find him 
to their liking, as certainly he was not to mine. 

For, as a thing of course, there arose this question : 
If Philip helped the Irish to drive the English out of 
Ireland, and the English were expelled from the island, 
what reward would Philip expect to receive in return ? 
Would he not look to become its king ? However, so 
far as I was concerned, the answer lay with my mis- 
tress and not with me. 

What struck deeper to my heart, so that it was filled 
with aching every hour, was no such great affair as the 
possession of a kingdom ; yet was it greater to me 
than all the kingdoms of the world. It was that I be- 
gan to doubt — nay, to fear — that the dear, sweet, fair 
woman whom I loved would never be mine. 

I had dreamed that I too, would be a king — her 
king. Now I saw, or seemed to see, myself uncrowned, 
disrobed, and beggared, thrust outside the gates of the 
palace in which she dwelt. But I had never been 
crowned, nor robed, nor rich, save in visions, and 
was in truth the veriest beggar on the face of the 
earth. 

Although I was able to be so little with my mis- 
tresses, I was not so blind as not to see that de Vilela 
was entirely fascinated by Eva O’Malley. She had 
impressed him from the first, and herein I blamed him 
not. And the more he saw of her, the more her charm 
worked upon him. That surprised me not ; it would 
have been surprising if it had not. 


“ REDSHANK. AND REBEL” I23 

What stung me to the soul was that Eva was evi- 
dently interested in the man, listening absorbedly to 
everything he said. Many strange and curious tales 
had he to tell of Spain and of the Moors, and, most of 
all, of those new lands beyond the seas, inhabited by 
the Indians, with their magical cities of gold and their 
wondrous mines of gems and precious stones. Spoke 
he, too, of the mysteries of those far-off regions ; of the 
lakes and forests and mountains that floated above the 
clouds, swimming in the silent air; of sacred temples 
rising tower above tower, exceeding majestical, out of 
wide plains of gleaming verdure ; of their princes and 
priests and people — all themes as entrancing as any 
story of chivalry. 

Nor lacked he such also, for he could tell of those 
splendid feats of arms which have made the glory of 
the world. He was a master, too, of the secrets of 
courts, and stood high in the councils of his King. 

’Twas no wonder that that soft tongue of his wooed 
and won upon our women, who had so often heard 
with delight the ruder stories of our bards. Who was 
I to match myself against this paragon, this paladin, 
this gentle and perfect knight ? 

My thoughts were bitter and gloomy, like one walk- 
ing in the shadow of death, and I had not even the 
poor consolation of saying to myself that Don Fran- 
cisco was nothing more than a squire of dames — at 
home rather in my lady’s bower than in the tented 
field — for there was that about him which proclaimed 
him a soldier, and even a veteran of war. Good reason, 
too, had we to know him before many weeks were past 
for the bold and ready sword he was. 

And when we had returned to Clew Bay, and the 


124 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


galleys were safe in the haven under Knockmore, both 
de Vilela and Fitzgerald accompanied us to the Castle 
of Carrickahooley, where they were received by my mis- 
tresses as if they held them in their kindest regard. 
Indeed, they were so courteously entertained that the 
darkness of my spirits deepened, so that I hardly knew 
myself. 

I was in as many moods as there were hours in the 
day, until I felt ashamed of myself and of my weakness 
born in me. At first, I had chafed and fretted like a 
spoiled child ; then a sullen and savage temper had 
possessed me, so that I could see that the crews of the 
galleys observed me, thinking that perhaps the bite of 
my wounds still hurt and galled ; now, recovering my- 
self, I bade myself endure hardness, and bear the lash 
of the whip of fate, and be a man. 

But my dear was very dear to me, and my heart 
rebelled. 

In the meantime I was going backward and forward 
among the islands and on the mainland, distributing 
portions of the plunder we had taken from the galleons 
to the widows and relatives of those who had fallen in 
the fighting, as was the custom of Grace O’Malley with 
her people. Other parts of the spoil were for greater 
security put into the strong chambers under the castle 
and elsewhere. 

There remained the chest of gold and various vessels 
and chains and rings of silver and gold, many of them 
richly jeweled, to be hidden away, and for this pur- 
pose, Grace O’Malley and I went in a boat by ourselves 
to the Caves of Silence under the Hill of Sorrow. And 
as I rowed, and considered the while what significance 
there was in the gold not being restored to those who 


“redshank and rebel'' 125 

made claim to being its owners, I experienced a sudden 
lightening of my spirits. 

I reasoned that there must be some doubt in the 
mind of my mistress of the truth of the story she had 
been told of the chest of gold, or else she would not 
have kept it. She could not entirely trust them — de 
Vilela and Fitzgerald — or she would have returned the 
money to them. So I thought, but even this comf6rt 
was taken from me. 

When we had reached the dark, narrow strait that 
lies between the high cliffs, the grim sentinels which 
guard the entrance to the caves, the boat shot into it 
like an arrow, and, without a word, we went swiftly 
for a distance of half a mile or more — the zip-drip of 
the oars alone being heard, eerie and startling, as the 
sound shivered up the black walls of rock. 

There, jutting out from them, was the Red Crag, 
that is in shape like the head of a bull even to the 
horns ; beyond, a strip of beach, and, at the side of it, 
a ledge of gray-blue stone ; then again the rock walls, 
ever narrowing and becoming yet more narrow, until 
they closed in an archway, and we lost the light of day 
as the boat passed on up the fissure that runs deep into 
the bowels of the Hill of Sorrow. There was not room 
for rowing, and I forced the boat along with a hook, 
Grace O’Malley having lighted a torch. 

Then we came to the black, slippery block of stone 
which seems to close up the passage, but the secret of 
which was known to us, and to us only. 

Here we entered — by what way I may never tell — 
and were in the first Cave of Silence, a vast, gloomy, 
ghostly, dimly-lit hall, with tables and altars and seats 
carved out of the living rock by hands dead these 


126 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


many thousand years, and on the floor where it was 
stone and not water, a gray, powdered dust, faintly 
colored here and there as with specks of rust — and all 
that dust was once alive, for these caves are the graves 
of men. 

Out of this vast chamber opened a number of small- 
er caves, that looked not unlike the cells of monks — 
and monks of some sort perhaps were they who lived 
and died here. And everywhere silence — a chill, brood- 
ing, fearful, awful, silence ; and the living rock, hewn 
and cut ; and the floors that were partly stone and 
partly water ; and the gray, rust-spotted dust of death ! 

In one of these caverns we deposited the treasure 
taken from the galleon, hardly speaking except in whis- 
pers as we did so, for the hush of the place lay on us 
like a spell. 

I ever felt a creepy horror of these dim, dumb shades, 
and was glad, when our work was done, to return again 
to the light of the sun. 

It was on our way back to the castle that Grace 
O’Malley spoke of what was in her mind. Her face 
was stern and set and full of purpose. 

“ Ruari,” said she, “much has happened since last 
we visited these caves together with my father, Owen. 
Now he is gone, and I, his daughter, am proscribed by 
the English. To what better end could the treasure 
in these caves be put than to help to drive the English 
out of Ireland ? ” 

“ The treasure is yours,” said I, slowly, for her words 
killed my new-found hope, “ to do with as you list, 
and your will is mine. But the English are many, and 
brave and strong. Remember Shane O’Neil, and how 
he fell before them. It would be a terrible thing to 


“redshank and rebel” 127 

lose the treasure, and still to have the English in the 
land.” 

“ We are at war with them in any case,” said she. 
** As for Shane O’Neil, he was unsuccessful because he 
stood alone, but if all the princes and chiefs of the 
island unite, the result would surely be different. 
Then there is the power of Spain to be thrown into 
the balance on our behalf. The King has promised 
to send both men and money, if we will but compose 
our own feuds, and band ourselves together for the 
one common object.” 

I answered not a word, but pulled at the oars, 
doggedly. 

“ Ruari ! ” she exclaimed. “Why this silence? It 
is not like you to be so quiet when the sound of battle 
is in the air.” 

“ Say on,” cried I, “ I am your servant.” 

She gazed at me, as one who considered anxiously 
a thing which puzzled her. 

“ It is not the treasure, surely ?” said she. “ When 
did you care for anything save the taking of it ? ” 
Then a light leaped into her eyes, and she laughed 
more heartily than she had done for days. “ You do 
not like Don Francisco ? That is it ! ” And she 
laughed again. 

“ Don Francisco is well enough,” said I, but she 
passed the empty words by. 

“ Eva is but a young lass,” said she, with the hard- 
ness gone from her face, so tender had it become all 
at once, “ and the Don, who is certainly a gallant 
gentleman, and not a love-sick boy, gives her pleasure 
with his tales and romances. That is all ! ” 

A love-sick ! That was I, Ruari Macdonald. So 


128 GRACE O’MALLEY 

Grace O’Malley knew my secret ; did Eva know it 
also ? 

“Grace O’Malley,” said I, resting on the oars, in 
anguish, for her words brought no solace to me, “ my 
heart is sore.” 

“ Ruari,” said she impatiently, “ you are nothing 
but a big boy. Eva has a liking for de Vilela, and so 
have I, but neither of us has any love for him.” 

“ She does not love him,” cried I, doubtfully, yet 
with a gladness unspeakable conquering the doubt, 
“ She does not love him ! ” 

“ Listen, Ruari ! ” said my mistress, with a deep, almost 
melancholy gravity. “ If this noble Spaniard love her 
truly, and she do not him, consider how terrible a 
misfortune has befallen him. To love greatly, nobly, 
truly — ” and then she paused — “ and to find that such 

a love is unreturned ” and again she stopped. 

“ But love is not forme; these caves of silence give 
me strange thoughts,” continued she. 

Here was my mistress in a mood that was new to 
me, and I held my peace, wondering. I had deemed 
that her thoughts were set on war, and her quarrel with 
the Governor of Galway, forgetting, as I so often did, 
that she was a woman as well as our princess and chief. 

“ Do you not understand,” said she again, “ that the 
English will not be satisfied to let our affairs remain 
as they are ? This is not like the strife between two 
of our septs. Think you that Sir Nicholas is the man 
to be easily defied ? Not so ; the matter is no more 
than begun. He will try to have his revenge, nor will 
he tarry long over it. See, then, how great an advan- 
tage it is for us that De Vilela should have come to us 
at such a time, with the assistance of the King of Spain. 


“redshank and rebel” 129 

Will not the whole island rise against the Queen of 
England ? ” 

To make Philip King of Ireland ? ” asked I. 

“ I know not that,” replied she ; “ but the first thing 
is to expel the English.” 

Then she told me that Fitzgerald and de Vilela 
were soon to set out, making their way across the 
country to the Earl of Clanrickarde, and, later, to the 
Earl of Desmond, who was known to be disaffected to 
the government. By the spring of the following year, 
it was hoped, a general rising would be arranged for, 
and, in the interval, soldiers and money would arrive 
from Spain, and a camp would be formed at a point 
on the coast, chosen for its ease of access from the 
open sea, and the readiness with which it could be 
fortified. 

It was much, nay, it was everything, for me to know 
that Eva O’Malley was not in love with Don Francisco, 
and it was with very changed feelings that I returned 
to Carrickahooley. 

Yet, though I had my mistress’s assurance that all 
was well, I soon became doubtful and dissatisfied, for 
time passed and De Vilela made no preparations to 
depart on his mission to Clanrickarde, while his devo- 
tion to Eva was more evident day by day. I asked 
myself why he lingered, considering the importance of 
the business on which he was engaged, and Eva was 
the only reply to that question. 

It was when I was in this unhappy frame of mind that 
one of Richard Burke’s messengers, who had come by 
way of Lough Corrib and Lough Mark from Galway, 
arrived at the Castle, bringing news that Sir Nicholas 
Malby was on the point of setting out to eat us up. 

9 


130 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


Beyond this, the man who was a half-witted crea- 
ture, and so permitted to wander about at his pleasure, 
no one doing him hurt because such as he were counted 
outside of the course of nature, could tell us little or 
nothing. Richard the Iron had either not trusted 
him with more than the barest message, or else had 
had no opportunity for saying more. It was possible, 
also, that he had not been able to find out exactly what 
was intended against us. 

The season was still fine and open, and, if the 
Governor so determined it, he could attack us by 
bringing a force along the shores of the lakes, and 
then up by the valley of the Eriff. Or, if he designed 
to assault us from the sea, as he might if he had 
obtained some of Winter’s ships of war, he might 
purpose to come that way at us. But Burke’s mes- 
senger could tell us nothing of this. 

It seemed more likely that, as the march through 
Connaught would be slow and tedious, and beset by 
the dangers which attend the passage of a large body 
of men through a difficult and little known country, 
he would strive to reach and assault us by sea. 

Therefore, Grace O’Malley commanded me to take 
The Cross of Blood, and, sailing southwards, to keep a 
lookout for Sir Nicholas and the English resorts of 
Winter, then in charge of a great part of the fleet of 
Queen Elizabeth. And, indeed, I was eager to be 
gone, not only because I was ever ready for action of 
one kind or another, but also because I felt it would 
be a relief to the painful uncertainty in which I was 
with regard to Eva. 

I had several times resolved to speak to my dear of 
the love for her which burned within me, but no 


“redshank and rebel" 131 

favorable opportunity presented itself, and, shy and 
timid where she was concerned, I had not had the wit 
to make one for myself. And I marveled at myself, 
being bold, not to say foolhardy, in most matters, and 
yet not a little of a coward before this one small, fair 
woman. 

Out from Clew Bay put we with all haste, the wind 
and sea not being amiss, and here for two days we 
drove before the breeze without coming in sight of a 
ship of any size. On the third day we lay off shore in 
a bay not many leagues from Galway, and there the 
hours passed by, and still there was no sign of Winter’s 
vessels. 

I was in two minds, nor could at first settle with 
myself whether to return to Clew Bay at once, having 
come to the conclusion that Sir Nicholas was to attack 
us by land, or to endeavor to enter Galway, and so to 
discover what he had done, or was about to do. 

Now it was of the utmost consequence that we 
should learn what were the plans of the Governor, if 
they could be come at in any way, and, having in- 
formed my officers of what I proposed, I determined 
to disguise myself and to enter the city to obtain what 
we were in search of. 

Bidding my people return to Clew Bay if I came not 
back to the galley in three days at the furthest, I put 
on the dress of a mendicant friar, and in the night was 
rowed to the fishing village that is just outside the 
gates of Galway. Landing, I made my way to the 
huts, and saw a light burning in one. When I knocked 
at the door, a man appeared, who, seeing a priest, as 
he thought, asked my blessing and invited me to enter. 

After a few words, I threw myself down on the 


132 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


earthen floor, and, saying that I was weary and fain 
would sleep, closed my eyes and waited for the dawn. 
The fisherman made some rough provision for my 
comfort, and left me ; but I could hear him whispering 
to his wife, and her replying to something he had said. 

When the morning was come, I asked to be shown 
the house of the nearest priest, whom I found, early 
as it was, astir and busy with his office. Discovering 
myself to him — and this I did because I knew all the 
Irish priests were our friends — I requested him to telf 
me where Sir Nicholas was. 

But he made answer that he went seldom within the 
walls of the city, as the watch was very strict since the 
escape of Grace O’Malley, and that no one was suffered 
to go in or out save only by permission of the marshal. 
He had heard, however, that, since her flight, the Irish 
in Galway and the neighborhood were regarded with 
suspicion, and that some of them had been cast into 
prison. Sir Nicholas, he thought, was still in Galway. 

As for Grace O’Malley, she had been proclaimed a 
traitress by the Governor, and an enemy of the Queen. 
I myself, Ruari Macdonald, was also proscribed as an 
abettor of her treasons, and a great reward was offered 
for the head of the “ redshank and rebel,” as Sir 
Nicholas was pleased to call me. 

And these things did not disquiet me exceedingly, 
but what did, was that I could learn nothing of 
Richard Burke, whom I desired above all to see. 
Him, then, had I first to seek out, and, so soon as the 
gates were open, I set out for Galway, trusting that 
my priest’s dress would satisfy the watch, and that I 
should be allowed to enter without any trouble or dis- 
turbance. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 

The air was cool and the light clear as I stepped 
briskly along from the village in a northerly direction, 
up over the high, wooded lands that lie on that side 
of Galway. From an open space I obtained a view of 
the town and its harbor, and was well pleased to note 
that no ship of war, or large vessel of any kind, rode 
at anchor in the bay. Plainly, the English admiral. 
Winter, had not yet arrived. 

Then I struck across to the east, and so fetched a 
compass round until I came upon the road that leads 
to the great gate of the city, and there, no distance 
off, was the gate, open. Two carts, going to market 
with provisions, were passing in, and their drivers 
were stopped by the watch and interrogated. 

Now, I had no overweening confidence in the com- 
pleteness of my disguise, and it was evident that what 
the village priest had told me was true as to the care 
exercised in the admission of any one within the walls, 
so I drew off and tarried a while, to see if chance 
would not put some opportunity into my hands. 

I reflected, too, with perturbation, that I had no weap- 
on with me except a dagger — the robe I Xvas wearing 
making it impossible to conceal a sword beneath it. 
But then, again, came the thought that, however well 

133 


134 


GRACE OMALLEY 


I might have been armed, I was but one man with one 
life, and that I was about to adventure it in a city full 
of my enemies. Yet is there that in the mere grip of 
the cold cross of a sword that keeps the blood a flow- 
ing fire in one’s veins, and I regretted that I had had 
to leave my good blade behind. 

While I was thus communing with myself, I saw 
two Franciscans approach, going towards the gate, 
and I straightway resolved to join them. They were 
talking loudly, as if there were a bone of contention 
between them, and, when they observed me, they 
both, in one breath, as it were, addressed me, each 
one asking me to give a decision in his favor, on the 
subject they differed about, which was — Whether St. 
Patrick were an Irishman or not? 

I answered craftily that I should like to hear the 
arguments on both sides of the question, and re- 
quested them to chose which of them should be the 
first speaker. Whereupon, they halted in the road, 
disputing which should have the preference, and were 
like to have spent the morning before they had settled 
this, as neither would yield to the other, if I had not 
made a movement towards the gate. 

“ Sir,” said I, turning to one of them — they had 
now ranged themselves on either side of me as we 
walked on — “ what say you ? That the holy Patrick 
was ? ” 

“ I say he was an Irishman,” burst in the other, on 
my left, before I had finished the sentence. 

“ An Irishman ! ” exclaimed the Franciscan on my 
right, “ an Irishman ! Not he. He was a Scot ! ” 

“ I say he was an Irishman ! ” 

“ And I maintain he was a Scot ! ” 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 


135 


** An Irishman ! ” 

“ A Scot ! ” 

Their voices rose into shoutings and roarings, as 
they glared across me with angry eyes. 

St. Patrick was never born in Ireland,” cried the 

one. 

“ St. Patrick was never born anywhere else, retorted 
the other. 

“ I tell you, by the Mass, that St. Patrick was a 
Scot.” 

“ I tell you, by St. Peter, he was not.” 

And thus they wrangled until we had reached the 
gate, where I perceived the noise they made had al- 
ready attracted the notice of the watch. Without 
appearing to pay any attention to the soldiers, I nod- 
ded now to the Franciscan on my right, and now to 
him on my left, as if I followed their words intently. 

All my senses, however, were on the stretch, and 
my heart throbbed and fluttered in my breast, for the 
danger was great. 

“ ’Tis Father Ambrose and Father Gregory,” I heard 
one of the soldiers say, “ and another of the fathers.” 
Then he glanced at me inquiringly, but only asked, 
“To the Church of St. Nicholas, fathers?” 

“ Yes,” was the reply, and we were passing in when 
an offlcer of the Governor’s came down the street, and, 
scowling at us, bade us halt. 

“ Whither go ye ? ” he demanded gruffly. 

“To the Church of St. Nicholas,” said we as with 
one voice, for I had made up my mind to go thither 
also. 

“There be too many priests in Galway already,” said 
he with stern-knit brows, “ and, had I my way, I should 


136 GRACE O'MALLEY 

hang ye all. Know ye these men?'' he called to the 
watch. 

I held my breath. Father Ambrose and Father 
Gregory they appeared to know, but as to myself, 
what would they say ? 

“ Yes, sir," said the soldier who had spoken before, 
and as soon as I heard this, I moved on, the Francis- 
cans accompanying me, and beginning their dispute 
over again. 

And so on we walked to the Church of St. Nicholas, 
while I could scarcely credit having thus fortunately 
made my entrance into Galway. Having arrived at 
the church, I directed my steps to the shrine of my 
patron saint, where, on my knees, with more than the 
devoutness of many a monk, I offered him my grati- 
tude for his favor and protection, and implored a con- 
tinuance of the same. 

Thus engaged, I had not at once observed that some 
one had come up behind me, and was kneeling two or 
three paces away. When I looked up I saw the figure 
of a woman, but her face I could not see for the 
shadow of a pillar that intervened. 

Somehow, the form seemed familiar, and when she 
rose up from praying and turned to go, I was startled 
to find myself gazing at Sabina Lynch. She glanced 
at me curiously, but, beholding only a friar, passed on 
sedately out of the building, little thinking at the mo- 
ment that she had ever been carried, and that not too 
gently nor so long ago, in that friar’s arms. 

To keep up the character I had assumed I began 
begging, according to the manner of the order of men- 
dicants, from door to door, so soon as I had quitted 
the church, hoping in this way to light upon some one 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 137 

from whom I might safely ask if Richard Burke were 
lodging in the town. 

And in this it appeared altogether probable that I 
should have no success, for in many instances I was 
driven from the doors of the people without ceremony, 
or paid no heed to whatever. Indeed, the whole town 
seemed to be agog with something, and, as the streets 
were now filled with soldiers marching in companies, 
it was easy to be seen that there was good reason for 
the excitement. 

When I inquired of a man who had given me an 
alms, and who was of a friendly disposition, what was 
the cause of all this moil and stir, he replied that 
surely I must be a stranger not to know that Sir 
Nicholas was bringing an army together in the town 
with which he meant to punish the rebels of Con- 
naught. 

“ What rebels ? ” asked I innocently. 

“ That pestilent and notable woman,” said he, 
“Grace O’Malley, and all her tribe of robbers and 
murderers and pirates.” 

Then he told me how she had destroyed the wine 
fleet of Galway, and so had come near to ruining the 
trade of the port. 

“ She is a devil,” quoth he, and he crossed himself, 
“ and the Governor will kill her and her people.” 

“ A woman ! ” cried I, with a great show of being 
astonished beyond measure. 

“ Aye, a woman,” said he, “ but she must be a devil.” 
And he crossed himself again. Then -he added : “ If 
she be not the very devil in the shape of a woman, 
there is with her a man, a giant — a great, strong giant 
— whom she calls her brother, but who is said to have 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


138 

come out of the sea, and is no man at all, but a devil 
too. Some say he is a Redshank of the Scots, but I 
tell you he is a devil too.” 

And thus the fellow maundered on, while I found 
some trouble in restraining myself from bursting into 
laughter in his face. Having, however, thanked him 
civilly for his alms and information, I gave him my 
blessing — a devil’s blessing — and so left him. 

We were devils ! 

What, then, were those who thought nothing of 
breaking a safe coiivluct, or of poisoning the wine at 
banquets to which they had invited their victims as 
loving guests? Yet the first had happened in the case 
of my mistress, and the second had been the fate of 
many an Irish chief. 

We were devils, and so to be feared ! It was no 
such bad thing at that time and in that land to be 
counted as devils, for men who had no fear of God be- 
fore their eyes, nor of his saints, were afraid of devils. 

I had now come to the tavern that is under the sign 
of the Golden Eagle, and from inside proceeded the 
sound of eating and of drinking, of festivity and of 
mirth. Entering in, I was about to beg for alms, when 
I saw among the company a man whom I recognized 
as one of the Mayo Burkes, a gallowglass of the Mac- 
William’s. Him I at once addressed, incautiously 
enough, asking if his master were well, and where I 
would find him, as I had a message for his private ear. 

“ Richard the Iron,” said he, “ is lodged in the 
North Street ; and who are you, father, that know not 
that ? ” 

“ I have been there,” said I, lying boldly, “ but he 
is away from the house.” 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 139 

“ If he be not at the mansion of the Joyces,” said 
he, “ then I know not where he is.” 

So Richard Burke was at the mansion of the Joyces 
in the North Street. Here was good news indeed, 
and, having said some fair words to the man, I went 
out of the tavern ; but when I reached the North Street 
I found that my falsehood had this much of truth in 
it : that Richard Burke was not there. I sat down on 
a bench in the courtyard of the mansion, and waited 
impatiently for his return. Tiring of this, I walked 
up the street towards the Little Gate, and whom should 
I meet on the way but Richard Burke riding with 
Sabina Lynch. 

Well did I recall what Richard Burke had said to 
me some weeks before, when he had come secretly to 
The Cross of Blood. He had declared that Sabina 
Lynch loved him, but that he only cared for Grace 
O’Malley. Yet, as I looked at them, it seemed to me as 
if he were paying Mistress Lynch no little court, and 
they appeared to take pleasure in each other’s society. 

But when I thought of the messenger he had sent 
to Carrickahooley, and of his service, though unavail- 
ing, to us before, I conceived that he was playing a 
double part, holding that Lve and war, perhaps, justi- 
fied any means so long as the end were gained. And, 
for that matter, I, the false friar, was no better than 
a cheat myself. 

I was determined to get speech with him without 
further delay — the feeling of impatience was so strong 
upon me — and, as I was casting about in what way I 
should accomplish this, Sabina Lynch tossed me a 
piece of silver as an alms, while I was yet three ells 
length from the horses. 


140 GRACE O’MALLEY 

“Take that for the poor, for thee,” cried she, 
merrily. 

It happened that the coin after it had struck the 
ground, rolled in front of Richard Burke’s horse, and 
I rushed forward to pick it up before it was trampled 
into the dust. I also trusted that under cover of this 
action I should be able to say a few words which would 
make me known to him, without being perceived by 
his companion. 

As I stepped into the street, he was compelled 
to rein in his horse, and then to pass by the side of 
me. 

“ What a greedy, clumsy friar he is ! ” laughed 
Sabina Lynch. 

In truth, I was as clumsy as clumsy could be, for as 
I drew myself up and tried to stand erect I hit my 
shoulder against Richard Burke’s foot, whereupon he 
stopped. 

“ Father,” said he, good-humoredly, “ have you 
no care for yourself? Then, prithee, have a care for 
me.” 

And he smiled ; but when he had looked into my 
face, and had met my eyes, I saw the blood suddenly 
leave his cheeks, and knew that he had penetrated my 
disguise. 

He gave so great a start that his horse leaped up 
under him, and, as it did so, the friar’s cowl, which 
covered my head and partially hid my face, was thrown 
back, and there stood I, Ruari Macdonald, undisclosed 
and discovered, before Sabina Lynch. 

She gazed from the one to the other of us in silence, 
then, striking her horse violently, galloped off ex- 
claiming: “ Treason, treason ! ” 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 


I41 

Richard Burke was in a maze. 

“ Ruari ! ” he gasped, and could say no more. 

“ I have come to Galway,” said I quickly, ‘‘ that I 
might have knowledge of the Governor’s intentions 
against us. This is no place for us now,” cried I, 
to rouse him, for he was like one that dreamed, “come, 
come with me before the hue and cry is raised.” 

And I seized the bridle of his horse and turned its 
head, and led it towards the Little Gate. 

“ Not that way,” said he wildly. “ I have just come 
from thence.” 

Then he gathered himself and his wits together. 

“ The Great Gate is best. Aye, this is no place now 
for me any more than it is for you. Well said you 
that. We will go together; but let us not go too 
swiftly, otherwise the watch, suspecting something is 
wrong, will not let us pass. We have a few minutes to 
spare before the gates can be closed. Do you walk a 
little way behind me.” 

I had replaced the cowl about my head, and, hardly 
knowing whether to be glad or sorry at what had fallen 
out, marched at a rapid pace after him up the street of 
the Great Gate. 

Richard Burke was well known to the watch, and 
no objection was made to our passing out. As long 
as we were within sight of the walls we went at a 
walk, but when a turn of the. road had hid them from 
us, I grasped the saddle-cloth and ran beside the horse, 
which its rider now urged along at the top of its 
speed. 

We had gone about two miles, and had gained an 
eminence partly sheltered by trees, when, looking back, 
we saw the figures of horsemen spurring after us out 


GRACE O MALLEY 


142 

of the city. On we sped again, until I could run no 
more. Then I besought Burke to leave me as I was 
spent and blown. But this he would not hearken to 
at first. 

“ It will be a strange thing,” said I, “ if I cannot 
conceal myself somewhere in the trees and bushes, or 
among the rocks, for the night. In the morning I will 
make my way back to the galley.” 

And I persuaded him to ride on toward his own 
territory, but not before he had told me that Sir 
Nicholas had drawn a force of a hundred men from 
Athlone, every one of whom was a trained and hardened 
soldier, and with these, his own men, and the gallow- 
glasses of Sir Morrough O’Flaherty of Aughnanure, 
who had promised to support him was about to set 
out at once for our overthrow. 

The Governor was terribly enraged against us, and 
in his anger at the destruction of the wine fleet had 
sworn he would make an end of us all. His wrath 
burned not only against Grace O’Malley, but against 
many others of the Irish, and there had been such a 
killing and a hanging of those who were thought hostile 
to the government as had never before been seen or 
heard of in Galway. 

Richard Burke had only escaped because of his 
friendship with the Mayor and his daughter Sabina 
Lynch, but his every act was spied upon. 

“ I remained in the city for no other reason,” he de- 
clared, ‘‘ than to see if I could not afford some help to 
you in one way or another.” 

“ As he departed, he said, as he wrung my hand, “ I 
shall cast in my lot with yours, and, if it can be done 
in the time left to us, I shall bring all the Burkes of 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 143 

Mayo to your assistance. Should you reach Carricka- 
hooley first, tell your mistress that.’’ 

Then he swung himself again into the saddle, and 
was gone. 

He was hardly out of sight, when I heard the sound 
of hoofs beating on the road, and creeping in through 
the bushes that lined a small stream by the wayside I 
laid me down to rest, and soon I was listening to the 
voices of the men in pursuit of us as they drew near. 
They made no pause, but swept on past the spot where 
I lay. 

I was about to emerge from my place of conceal- 
ment, when again the tramp of horses fell upon my 
ear, and, looking out, I saw Sir Nicholas and several of 
his officers come riding slowly along. They stopped 
quite close to me, and, dismounting, made a survey of 
the land all around, but, my star favoring me, they 
moved to the further side of the stream. 

“ Let the camp be pitched here,” said Sir Nicholas, 
“ and do you remain until the men come up.” 

I guessed that he had been told of my presence in 
Galway, and had immediately ordered the soldiers to 
set out so that we should have no advantage from our 
being warned of his purpose. 

My position was now one of extreme peril ; I was 
cut off from returning to my galley ; and I could see 
nothing for it but to remain where I was until the 
soldiers had gone on on their journey, unless I took 
the chances of the darkness. 

There I lay, and, as the night fell, the men of Sir 
Nicholas marched up and lit their watch-fires not more 
than a stone’s throw from where I hid. For hours, 
not daring to move, I heard them singing and talking 


144 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


and jesting with each other. When, at length, silence 
came upon the sleeping camp, I stole as softly as I 
could out of the bushes, and pushing on, like a cat, so 
that each step of mine was no more noticed than a 
puff of wind, I managed to gain the road that leads 
past Oorid and Sindilla at the foot of the mountains. 
I walked fast, and sometimes ran, until the day broke, 
when I turned aside, and, having sought for and found 
a dry cave on the side of a hill, fell down utterly ex- 
hausted, and ere long was in a deep slumber. 

I was awakened many hours later, for it was dark 
again, by a strange sort of whistling noise at my very 
ears. 

I started up, and the noise ceased ; I lay down and 
the sound began once more. As I listened, my face 
to the rocky floor of the cavern, I fancied I could dis- 
tinguish words, but, as it were, coming from a great 
way off. 

Now, thoroughly aroused, I listened yet more earn- 
estly, and I made out that there were two or three voices, 
and that the sound of them was not coming from the 
inside of the cave, nor yet from the outside, but seemed 
to issue, like a thin whistle, through the rock itself. 

I moved stealthily towards the far end, and, lying 
down again prone, applied my ear to the ground. I 
now heard quite distinctly, the words being audible, 
though faint, and with an extraordinary effect of still 
coming from an immense distance. 

I then understood I was in one of the chambers of 
the Whispering Rocks as they were called, for a wonder 
of nature has so constructed them that it is possible 
to hear through them, when all round is still, whatever is 
said within these caverns. And how this miracle come 


THE WHISPERING ROCKS 


145 

to pass I know not, but I had often heard of it ; other- 
wise I might have thought that these sounds came 
from the spirits of the mountain, and so might not 
have discovered the vile plot that had been hatched 
for our ruin. 

For, as the voices grew more and more clear, I found 
myself listening to the story of how these men who 
were speaking were to present themselves at the castle 
of Carrickahooley in advance of the English army, and, 
having gained admittance on the plea that they were 
fleeing to Grace O’Malley for protection, were treacher- 
ously to betray her and the castle into the hands of 
the Governor by secretly opening the gate as soon as 
the attack began. 

I gripped my dagger in impotent rage, for, placed 
as I was, I could do nothing. After a time the voices 
ceased, and, moving noiselessly to the mouth of the 
cave, I saw that the night was clear and starry, and, 
feeling refreshed by my long repose, I made on towards 
Ballanahinch, which I reached in the morning, and 
where I obtained milk and the flesh of a kid from the 
wife of one of the kernes, who took me for a wandering 
priest, and gladly supplied my wants. 

For two days and the greater part of two nights I 
toiled over the mountains and through the forests, 
seeing no indication of the English, until I came to the 
fiord of the Killery, where some of our own people 
dwelt under Muilrea. From thence they brought me 
round to Clew Bay in a fishing boat, and I was back 
again at Carrickahooley, more dead than alive from 
the fatigues I had undergone, inured though I was to 
all kinds of hardness. 


10 


CHAPTER XIII 


A SURPRISE 

As I stepped from the boat on to the face of the 
rock, which forms a natural quay on one side of the 
small harbor on the sea-front of the castle, both Grace 
and Eva O’Malley, who had seen me coming across the 
waters, met me and asked how I fared. 

I was not so spent with the travail of my wearisome 
journey as not to be conscious of a novel sort of shy- 
ness on the part of my dear, who seemed rather to 
hang back behind her foster-sister, and not to be so 
open and outspoken with me as formerly. With some 
bitterness of soul I attributed this change of manner 
to her thoughts being engrossed with De Vilela — so 
little was I able to read the maid’s mind. 

But it was no fitting time for either the softness or 
the hardness of love, and my first care was to relate all 
that had chanced since I had seen them last. 

Great was their astonishment at the way in which 
Sabina Lynch came again into the tale of our fortunes, 
and I could see, from a certain fierceness with which 
Grace O’Malley alluded to her, that a heavy reckoning 
was being laid up against her by my mistress. Eva, 
however, appeared to be more struck by the hopeless- 
ness of Sabina Lynch’s affection for Richard Burke, 
and found it in her heart to pity her. 

146 


A SURPRISE 


147 

When I gave Richard Burke’s message to Grace 
O’Malley, she rejoiced exceedingly thereat, and from 
that moment — at least, so it seems to me looking 
backward to those days — she began to esteem him 
more highly than heretofore, and to cherish some feel- 
ing of tenderness for him, her enmity against Sabina 
Lynch, though she would not acknowledge that there 
could be any rivalry between them, helping, perhaps, 
thereto not a little. 

And it appealed to me as a thing curious in itself, 
and not readily explained, except by saying that my 
mistress was not free from weakness, that she should 
have shown a compassion, as she had done when she 
had spoken to me some time before of De Vilela, for 
the hapless love of a man, and had nothing of the kind 
for Sabina Lynch. 

Whatever were her thoughts on these matters, 
what she said afforded no indication of them, for, so 
soon as she had heard that the MacWilliam purposed 
to bring over from the country of the Lower Burkes, 
as they were called, to distinguish them from the 
Burkes of Clanrickarde, his gallowglasses to her aid 
against the English, she at once proceeded to count 
up how many swords and spears were at his command. 
Moreover, she regarded, she said, his rising against the 
Governor as a splendid and sure sign of what would 
shortly take place over the whole of Ireland. 

Continuing the tale of my adventures, I related the 
conversation I had overheard in the cave of the mys- 
terious Whispering Rocks, and my mistress ordered 
that when the men, whose council of treachery I had 
become acquainted with in so strange a way, made 
their appearance, they should forthwith be admitted 


GRACE O MALLEY 


148 

into the castle, as if we had had no knowledge of their 
intended perfidy, and that they should not be dealt 
with as traitors until she deemed that time was ripe 
for it. 

And now, having been thus forewarned of what was 
in store for her on the part of Sir Nicholas, Grace 
O’Malley immediately set about placing the castle in 
a position of secure defense. To this end, several 
pieces of the ordnance which had been taken from the 
captured galleons of the wine fleet, and which had 
been put on board The Gray Woif and The Winged 
Horsey now at Clare Island, were brought across Clew 
Bay, and mounted on the walls and towers of Carrick- 
ahooley, while the gates and the other more vulner- 
able parts of its fortifications were strengthened. In 
all these matters we were much assisted by Don Fran- 
cisco, who had had a large experience of sieges, and 
was familiar with the onfalls and the outfalls and the 
other incidents of such warfare. The Spaniard and I 
therefore were together more than we had ever been 
before, and towards me he carried himself like the 
courteous and knightly man he was, while I strove to 
pattern myself upon him. 

That he loved Eva O’Malley I was in no doubt. 
Indeed, when he assured me, as he frequently did, how 
glad he was that he had not been able to leave the 
castle as he had intended doing, and how well pleased 
he was to have an opportunity of espousing our quarrel 
with the English, I understood that it was a delight to 
him to be near her in this our time of peril, for was 
not that what I also told myself continually ? 

That he bore a hatred towards England was true but 
his love for Eva, as he was to prove, was something 


A SURPRISE 


149 

far greater that his hatred of the English. Yet already, 
though I knew it not then, he must have been well 
aware that she was not for him. But no sign of grief 
or disappointment did he allow to appear, albeit, always 
grave, as is the Spanish manner, he seemed still graver 
before the assault began — and this, when I observed 
it, I took to mean that he considered our situation was 
such as called for seriousness. 

Whilst our preparations to repel the English were 
being made, some days elapsed, and, on the fifth of 
them, Calvagh O’Halloran brought The Cross of Blood 
into port at Clare Island, where to his great relief, not 
knowing what had been my fate in Galway, he was 
told that I was before him at Carrickahooley. 

Meanwhile, tidings were being brought us by bands 
and families of kernes and peasants, fleeing before the 
enemy, that the English were approaching. And, as 
they marched northwards through Connaught, the 
days were red with blood and the nights with fire. 

Everywhere their presence was marked by the smoke 
and flame of homesteads wantonly burned, and by the 
slaughter of all who fell into their hands, neither the 
old nor the decrepit, nor the nursing mother, nor the 
tender maiden, nor the sucking child behind left alive ! 

Among the despairing wretches who flocked to the 
castle for protection it was impossible to single out 
the plotters, whose knavery they had themselves un- 
wittingly disclosed in the Whispering Rocks, for ev^ery- 
one apparently was in the same evil case. A close 
watch, however, was kept on all the men who came 
in, and who were retained within the walls to help 
in the defense, while the women and children were con- 
veyed to Clare Island, where they would be in safety. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


150 

Don Francisco dropped a half hint that Eva might 
better be sent to Clare Island until the fortune of bat- 
tle had declared itself, but I knew that this would 
seem to her to be of the nature of deserting us at a time 
of crisis, and so the proposition was carried no further. 

And all through the siege she moved a bright, win- 
some, and always cheerful presence, generally attended 
by the Wise Man, Teige O’Toole, who constituted 
himself her body-servant, and who, during this period, 
uttered no prophecies of evil, but cheered and sustained 
us with the certainty of victory. 

At length, on the tenth day after my return to Car- 
rickahooly, our spies came in from their lairs in the 
forests and hills with the news that the English army 
was camped two leagues away, and that it appeared 
to be the intention of its leaders to spend the night 
there. The spies described the army as an immense 
host, there being more than three hundred well-armed 
soldiers, besides a great swarm of the gallowglasses of 
Sir Murrough O’Flaherty of Aughnanure, who him- 
self had accompanied the Governor. 

When I inquired eagerly if Sir Nicholas had any ord- 
nance, the spies averred that they had seen none. And, 
whether the difficulty of dragging heavy pieces through 
Connaught had been found insurmountable, or, strong 
in numbers, and relying on the terror inspired by the 
name of the English, he had resolved to dispense with 
them altogether I knew not ; but, to my mind, the ab- 
sence of these engines of war more than made up for 
his superiority over us in men. 

Doubtless, his action in this respect was founded on 
the confidence he entertained that we were about to 
be betrayed to him by the traitors within the castle 


A SURPRISE 151 

itself, nor could he dream that the galleries of the 
Whispering Rocks had given up his secrets to me. 

All that night the guard, of which I was in com- 
mand, stood to their arms upon the battlements ; but 
there was never a sound save such as ever comes from 
the sleeping earth or the never-sleeping sea. The 
morning dawned still and fair, and the sun rose out of 
the world, tinting with a fresh bloom the slopes of the 
distant hills now purpling with the bursting heather, 
and changing the thin vaporous mist that layover land 
and water below them, into one great gleaming sheen 
of silver. 

All that night, too, our spies lay concealed in the 
woods, and noted every movement within the English 
camp ; and now, as the day advanced, they came in to 
report that Sir Nicholas was marching down to the 
seashore. By noon he had established himself in and 
about the Abbey of Burrishoole, no regard being had 
to the sacredness of the building. And here he halted 
for the rest of the day, probably being greatly sur- 
prised that we had not so far offered any resistance to 
his approach. 

Now this ancient religious house stands on a rocky 
height looking across the small bay that is next to that 
on the edge of which the castle is built, and therefore 
the distance between the enemy and ourselves was so 
inconsiderable that it behoved us to be constantly on 
the alert. 

In the evening, then, when the night watch was 
posted on the walls, and about the gate, I doubled the 
number of the guard, choosing such men, and they 
chiefly from my own crew of The Cross of Blood, as 
were of proved endurance and courage. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


152 

De Vilela had proffered his services, as my second 
in command, and I had given him charge of a picked 
company whose station was beside the gate of the 
drawbridge — that is, the gate on the landward side of 
Carrickahooley. 

Grace O’Malley herself saw that everything was dis- 
posed according to her mind before she withdrew to 
the apartments of the women in the main tower. But 
well did I know that it was not to sleep that she had 
gone. She had now attired herself in the mantle, 
leather-quilted jacket, and armor of an Irish gentleman, 
and her eyes were full of the fierce light of battle ; but 
she, deeming it likely to increase the confidence of her 
people if they saw her retire, according to her usual 
custom, had left us to ourselves. 

I was leaning on the edge of the parapet, gazing into 
the deepening darkness of the night, and musing on 
many things, when one of my officers came up, and in- 
formed me that among those who had fled to us for 
refuge from the English were certain kernes who pas- 
sionately begged to be permitted to share the night 
watch, being consumed with zeal against the enemy. 

Knowing the treachery that was contemplated, Grace 
O’Malley had had all the refugees during the previous 
night confined within the buildings of the castle, and 
not suffered to go abroad except in the daytime, and 
now when I heard the request I felt a certainty that 
the men who made it could be no other than those 
whose voices I had overheard, and who were the trai- 
tors in the pay of the Governor. 

As it was above all things necessary that they should 
have no suspicion that we had any knowledge of their 
purpose, I gave my officer an answer in an off-hand 


A SURPRISE 


153 

manner, saying I would see these kernes in a little 
while, and, if I found them likely to make good soldiers, 
might add them to the guard. 

Debating with myself whether I should at once go 
and tell my mistress what I thought, and also, if I was 
correct in my surmise, what was the best way in which 
to proceed, so that the discomfiture of these men might 
be complete, the night grew apace, and still I had come 
to no decision. 

Suddenly, a slight, scarcely-seen motion — so slight, 
so scarcely seen that it might have been caused by the 
vagrant breath of a passing breeze, only there was a 
perfect calm — seemed to the keenness of my sea-trained 
vision to make itself felt by a sort of tremulousness in 
that breadth of shadow that lay opposite me under 
the cold gleam of the stars, and which I knew to be 
the side of the hill on which was the abbey. 

Sounds, too, there came, but so faintly that I could 
not disentangle them from the ordinary voices of the 
night. Then, as I strained my eyes and ears both 
sound and motion faded away as in a dream. I waited 
and watched for some minutes, but all was as silent as 
death. 

Thinking I might have been mistaken, I went down 
from the battlements, and calling to the officer who 
had spoken of the wish of the refugee kernes, I bade 
him bring them to me in a chamber that served as a 
guard-room. 

As I entered, a solitary wolf-call came howling 
through the air, and then, as the kernes came in, there 
was a second. 

The first wolf-call had startled me, for surely, with 
such a host near us, it was a strange thing for a wolf to 


GRACE o’MALLIiY 


154 

be thus close at hand ; but when I heard the second one 
there was no doubt left in my mind. These calls were 
no other than the calls of human wolves signaling each 
other. 

So, bidding the men to be kept in the guard-room 
till I returned, I went to the gate, and told De Vilela 
that I conjectured the enemy was stealing upon us in 
the darkness to take us by surprise, expecting that 
their allies within our walls would have so contrived as 
to make the way easy for them, and I said I thought I 
could now put my hand on these very men. 

When I saw the kernes again, they affirmed that 
they were three men of the O’Flahertys of Ballana- 
hinch, between whom and the O’Malleys there was a 
friendship of long-standing. Now, between these 
O’Flahertys and the O’Flahertys of Aughnamure there 
was a desperate family feud, and their tale was not 
lacking in plausibleness. They appeared to be very 
eager to be employed against the enemy, and implored 
to be sent to help to guard the gate, which was the 
weakest part of our defenses. 

I replied that it was for me, and not for them to say 
where they should be put, but that their prayer would 
be granted. As for the gate being the weakest part of 
our defences, how could they say that? Whereupon 
they were silent. However, I had now determined 
what I was to do, so I bade them begone to the com- 
pany of De Vilela, who had no difficulty in understand- 
ing that they were the knaves of whom I had spoken 
to him. 

A short time afterwards I saw the Spaniard, and 
communicated to him my plan, which was that he was 
to appear to give the, kernes every opportunity of 


A SURPRISE 


155 


carrying out their designs, but, without seeming to do 
so, was not to lose sight of them for one moment, and 
that thus he would probably be in a position to defeat 
their intent. 

To speak the truth, I did not see how I could act in 
any other manner, yet I was very uneasy, and, as the 
event showed, not without reason. 

For I had been no more than backagain at my place 
in the black corner of the parapet, when I heard a loud 
shouting at that angle of the wall next the sea, and the 
sound of blows. Running thither, I saw the dark 
forms of men climbing from ladders to the top of the 
wall, and the pale glitter of steel striking steel. 

In an instant the whole castle rang with the cries of 
the alarmed guard, as they hurried from all sides to 
the point of attack, and torches blazed out from the 
tower. The glare from these lights fell weirdly on the 
forms of our people as they pressed on to mount the 
parapet, yelling with lusty throats the war-cry of the 
O’Malleys. I stopped and looked down on them, and 
as the dancing torches flew their flags of red and orange 
flame, now this way, now that, I noticed among the 
crowd the faces of two of the kernes whom I had sent 
to De Vilela. 

To make certain I looked again. There assuredly 
they were, pushing on, and pointing to the place of 
assault, and shouting more loudly even than their 
neighbors. I asked myself why they had left the guard 
at the gate, and at once concluded that they must have 
slipped away in the confusion, for De Vilela was not 
likely to have given them permission. 

What was their object ? 

And where was the third man ? I could only see two. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


156 

There they were — the two whom I now plainly dis- 
covered stepping forward, apparently as keen for the 
fight as any of ourselves, making straight for the para- 
pet, and helpmg to draw others along with them away 
from the gate of the drawbridge. 

Was that it ? 

This thought came like the quick flashing of an in- 
ward light, and then was succeeded by another. 

If this were so, then it followed that the attack we 
were engaged in repelling was a mere feint meant to 
deceive us, and that the real assault would be made — 
probably at the gate — while our attention was held 
elsewhere. In any case there were sufficient, as I con- 
ceived, of our gallowglasses now upon the walls to 
beat back the enemy, and I hastened toward the gate. 

As I moved forward I was met by De Vilela and 
most of his company, and when I stopped and asked 
him why he had quitted his post, he replied that it was 
in obedience to a request from me which he had just 
received. Now I had sent no such request, and the 
fear which had sprung up within me was at once con- 
firmed, as it was evident that he had been duped by a 
false message, the result being that the gate was left 
nearly unprotected. 

“Come with me,” I said, at the same time telling 
him quickly how the matter stood, and of the dread 
that possessed me. Such of our men as I encountered 
on the way I also bade turn about and follow me. 
Nor were we a moment too soon. 

Drawing nearer, we could hear the rattle and the 
clank of the heavy chains of the drawbridge as it was 
being lowered, and the creaking of the ponderous gate 
as it swung inwards on its heavy hinges. The flames 


A SURPRISE 


157 

of torches blazing from the wide doorway of the main 
tower flashed upon the steel jacks and the gauntlets of 
English soldiers, dim-flitting in the half-gloom of the 
opening mouth of the gate. 

The traitor had done his work and had done it well ; 
yet it passes me, even to this day, to understand how 
he had been able to accomplish his end thus so swiftly 
and thoroughly. 

“O’Malley! O’Malley!” I cried in a great voice 
that rang out far above all the din and disorder of the 
night, so that it reached the ear of my princess, who 
now came hurrying on along with some of the gentle- 
men of her household and a body of swordsmen. 

“O’Malley! O’Malley!” 

Behind me, the pure deep tones of my mistress’s 
cry mingled with the hoarse, harsh accents of her 
people. 

“ O’Malley ! O’Malley ! ” 

Fierce and terrible beyond all power of words to ex- 
press was the hardly human cry. 

With a couple of bounds I had reached our foes. 
The glimmer of a sword passed by me, and I parried 
the point of a spear thrust at my breast. Then I felt 
my knees gripped, and I tripped over upon the body 
of the man who held me. As I stumbled, my weapon 
falling from my hand, I caught a glimpse of De Vilela 
standing over me, his long sword playing like light- 
ning, holding the enemy in check. 

There was a rush of feet, and across me and the man 
beneath me, as across a wall, did the battle rage. 

I had fallen with my whole weight upon the man 
who had seized my legs, and I heard him gasp and 
sob and try for breath as he lay underneath. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


158 

As I felt along his form for his throat, I noticed that 
he wore no armor, and my fingers became as steel 
when I realized that this was no other, could be no 
other, than the traitor who had opened the gate. 
Whoever or whatever he was, his secret died with him 
there, for I did not relax my grasp upon his neck until 
I was well assured that I had twisted and broken it. 

And when in the morning we found the body 
amongst a heap of slain, it was trampled out of all 
semblance of human shape, but not so as not to show 
the sign of the broken neck. 

How I managed to roll myself out of that press and 
coil I cannot tell, but yet somehow I did it, and all the 
while I was strangely conscious that De Vilela’s sword 
watched and warded over me, so that I escaped with 
my life. This affair of mine took not so long in the 
doing as in the telling of it, and when I had struggled 
to my feet he was in front of me, — “ Santiago ! Santia- 
go ! ” on his lips, as that long sword of his sang its 
songs of death. Plucking my battle-ax from my girdle 
I stepped to his side. 

And now about us were my mistress and her fiery 
swordsmen, mad with rage and thirsting for blood. 
With wild screams we fell upon and fought back the 
Englishmen, who stubbornly contested every foot of 
ground, until we hurled them broken across the bridge 
pursuing them for some distance beyond the castle. 
Then, facing round, we attacked from the rear those 
who had attempted to enter by scaling the walls ; and 
perhaps some escaped in the darkness, but of those 
who were seen by us not one was spared. 

So, favorable for us, our first fight with the English 
came to a close. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE GATE OF FEARS 

During what of the night remained we continued 
under arms, expecting that the attack might be re- 
newed, but the morning — another sunny splendor — 
came, and we were undisturbed. We were now in a 
better position to estimate what had occurred, and 
the peril from which we had so narrowly escaped. 

The number of our dead and wounded was not 
great, but among the latter was Fitzgerald, who had 
been by the side of Grace O’Malley in the fight for the 
gate. Eva O’Malley, along with Teige O’Toole, the 
Wise Man, who was also a mediciner, and skilled in the 
use of herbs and simples, ministered to the wants and 
relieved the pangs of the sufferers, as far as lay within 
her power. 

And as she passed in and out among them, her pass- 
ing seemed to me, and to others I doubt not, as the 
passing of an angel. My mistress and De Vilela were 
unhurt, and I had nothing more than some bruises to 
show for my share in the battle. 

Neither among the killed nor the wounded could 
the two traitorous kernes be seen, and I feared that 
they had contrived to make good their flight, a thing 
which did not appear improbable considering the dark- 
ness and confusion of an assault by night. However, 
^59 


i6o 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


I had every portion of the castle searched and scruti- 
nized with the utmost care, and finally the knaves were 
found hiding in a storeroom, which held a large quan- 
tity of loose corn, and there, amongst the grain, they 
were discovered nearly suffocated. 

They had deserved no mercy and they were shown 
none. Desirous of knowing who they in reality were, 
and of obtaining any information they possessed of 
the purposes of the Governor, I ordered that they 
should be taken into one of the underground dungeons, 
and put to the question. 

But they were stout of heart, being, as I think, no 
common men, so that torture even failed to worry their 
secrets from them. When Grace O’Malley heard that 
they could be forced to disclose nothing, she directed 
that they should be taken and hanged from a great 
gallows-beam, that sprang out from the summit of the 
tower, and which could be plainly descried by the 
English from Burrishoole. 

No sooner had the fight for the gate come to an end, 
than I became greatly disturbed in my mind as to the 
debt I felt myself to be owing to De Vilela, for, had it 
not been for that marvelous sword-play of his I had 
never come out of the fray alive. 

That was the kind of debt in payment of which a 
man might almost give his all, even life itself. In 
what way was I to discharge it ? I consoled myself 
with the thought that the chances of warfare might 
provide me with the opportunity, but if not — what 
then ? 

The matter lay heavy upon me, and that Don 
Francisco was my rival for Eva’s love, and, as I was 
more than half disposed to imagine my successful rival, 


THE GATE OF FEARS 


l6l 


did not make the burden of it the lighter to bear. 
But one thing I could do, and that, the business of the 
perfidious knaves being despatched, I did. I sought 
him out, and, offering him my hand, thanked him with 
such words as flowed from a full if troubled breast, for 
the great service he had done me. 

“ Senor,” said I, impulsively, “ I believe that I am 
indebted to you for the greatest service one man can 
render another.” 

H is attitude was that of protest, nay, of entreaty, 
that I should say no more. 

Now I have written to little purpose if I have not made 
it evident that De Vilela was my superior in every 
way save with respect to my strength of body, which 
was the one special gift God had given me. I had 
acknowledged the fact to myself, although, being 
human, not perhaps ungrudgingly. As I looked into- 
his face, whatever poor, paltry feeling I had nourished 
against him was swept away by a wave of strong 
emotion. 

“Yes, senor,” said I, “how am I to thank you? 
But for you — I would have perished. What am I to 
say? What can I do?” 

“ Senor Ruari,” cried he, in that soft, quiet way of 
his, “ between soldiers, brothers-in-arms, there is no 
debt.” 

“ Senor,” said I — 

“ Be generous, Senor Ruari,” exclaimed he, “ and 
say not a word more,” and he smiled somewhat wist- 
fully and sadly. “ We are friends, at any rate, whate’er 
befall, are we not ? ” 

“ By God’s wounds ! ” swore I. * 

And we clasped hands again and so parted. 


i 62 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


The day which followed that night of stir was one 
of quiet at the castle, and its very peacefulness 
seemed to me well-nigh intolerable. But v e learned 
from our spies, and could to some extent see for our- 
selves, that there was a great commotion in the Eng- 
lish camp, indicating the arrival of fresh troops. 

By the evening, Sir Nicholas had so disposed his 
forces, that we were completely hemmed in on the 
land side, and our spies had to be withdrawn within 
the walls. The sea was still open to us, and much I 
wondered that the Governor did not take this more 
into his account, for so long as we could get to our 
galleys and procure food by way of Clew Bay, we 
could laugh at him and bid him defiance. 

But I might have been sure that Sir Nicholas was too 
experienced a soldier not to know well what he was 
about. 

Another night and another day dragged themselves 
slowly away, and the Governor moved not from the 
position he had taken up. There he lay all round us, 
just out of reach of our ordnance, of which we gave him 
a taste from time to time, so that he should keep his 
distance ; there he lay, inactive, waiting, expectant — 
but of what, or, of whom ? 

These were the questions Grace O’Malley discussed 
with De Vilela and myself, and the answers to them 
did not present themselves at once. 

“ Can it be,” asked my mistress, and her words 
showed the direction in which her thoughts were turn- 
ing, ‘‘ that Sir Nicholas has heard Richard Burke is 
coming with all the men of Mayo behind him, to our 
aid and that he has decided to engage him before at- 
tacking us? ” 


THE GATE OF FEARS 163 

“ He is perhaps making some engines with which he 
hopes to battle down your walls/’ said De Vilela. 

“Our ordnance will prevent that,” said I. 

“ I think the Governor must himself expect to re- 
ceive ordnance from some quarter,” said De Vilela, 
“ otherwise, the success of the siege he must know is 
impossible.” 

Grace O’Malley and I looked at each other, the same 
thought in our minds. There was only the one way 
by which there was any probability of his obtaining 
heavy pieces, and that was over sea. 

Did Sir Nicholas reckon on the support of a heavy 
ship of war, and was he now quietly looking for its 
arrival ? Had he foreseen, or, at least, provided against 
the failure of the plot of the kernes? 

That seemed very likely, and the more I thought of 
it the more likely did it seem. I now realized, as I 
had not done before, the seriousness of our situa- 
tion. 

“ That must be it,” said Grace O’Malley. “ That 
must be it. He is not a man given to slackness, but 
he is perfectly aware that he can now effect nothing 
unless he has cannon, and so he tarries until his ord- 
nance comes. Doubtless he has arranged that a war- 
vessel shall meet him here, and, if that is how the 
matter stands, it may arrive very soon.” 

“ What you have conjectured,” said De Vilela, “ will, 
I think, prove to be correct.” And I also said that 
her words expressed my own opinion. 

Now, the three great galleys lay in the harbor at 
Clare Island, and as Grace O’Malley had withdrawn 
most of their crews they were without sufficient de- 
fenders, and might be easily taken and destroyed. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


164 

“ The galleys must at once be brought over here,” said 
she with decision to me, “ or better still, if it be not too 
late, sailed into Achill Sound, and hidden away in one 
of its many bays. This very night, as soon as the 
darkness has fallen, you, Ruari, must take as many 
men as can be got into the boats we have here, and 
make for Clare Island with all speed. When you have 
reached the island, do with the galleys as seems best 
to you.” 

Accordingly, when the shadows of night had over- 
spread the land and the sea, I set about to fulfil her 
behest. The day-breeze had died away, and the waters 
were calm and tranquil as we pulled out from the 
castle. Rowing steadily and strongly along the north 
shore of Clew Bay, the sound of our oars alone break- 
ing the silence, we held on until we arrived at Clare 
Island where I was overjoyed to find our ships riding 
at anchor in the peaceful security of the haven. 

And there, partly to rest my weary men, and partly 
because I could see no reason for any immediate ac- 
tion, I resolved to lie still till dawn. 

I had hardly, as it appeared to me, laid myself down 
to sleep in my cabin on TJie Cross of Blood, though 
some hours had passed, when I was aroused by Calvagh 
O’Halloran, who had been left in charge of the galleys, 
with the tidings that the watchers he had placed on 
Knockmore had come down from the hill with the 
intelligence that they had seen, in the first light of 
the morning, the tops of the masts of a large ship 
coming up, faint and dim, on the south against the 
sky. 

Springing from my couch, I bade Calvagh get the 
galleys ready to put to sea, and while this was being 


THE GATE OF FEARS 


165 

done I went ashore, and, climbing the slope of Knock- 
more with swift steps, gazed seaward at the approach- 
ing vessel. 

At first I was inclined to hesitate as to what to make 
of her, but as I looked, and as she kept coming on into 
fuller view, any doubt I entertained was set at rest. 

There was a bright flashing of flame, then a heavy 
boom from one of her ports, succeeded by three shots 
fired in rapid succession. 

I concluded that she was still too far out at sea for 
her commander to have intended these for anything 
but signals, and therefore I continued to stand watch- 
ing her, my purpose being to discover if she intended 
to make for Clare Island or would hold on towards the 
mainland. 

This took some time, for, as the breeze was off the 
shore and against the tide, she sailed very slowly. 
At length it bcame apparent that she was to endeavor 
to go on to Burrishoole or Carrickahooley, and so would 
have Clare Island well on her left, for, as she passed 
the point of Roonah, she was swung around between 
us and the coast. 

I could tell from her movements that her captain 
was far from being certain where the channel lay among 
the islands that stud all the eastern side of Clew Bay; 
and, indeed, it takes a man who knows these parts more 
than well, to steer a ship of middling tonnage safely 
through the rocks and shoals into the fairway by 
Illamore. I felt confident that it would be many hours 
before he could reach his destination, and this put into 
my mind to attempt to carry out a project which had 
occurred to me, and which might prevent him from ever 
reaching it at all. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


1 66 

The project was of a somewhat desperate nature, and 
if it resulted in failure then in all likelihood there would 
be an end, so far as regards The Cross of Blood and its 
company ; but if success should favor our enterprise, 
we might compel Sir Nicholas to raise the seige before 
it was well begun, and so bring the war to a close for 
the present by his retreat. 

As I was weighing the chances both for and against 
us, there sounded forth from the English ship-of-war a 
single loud report, and shortly afterwards three shots 
were fired — a repetition, in fact, of the former signal. 
This acted on me like the pricking of a spear on a 
charger. 

What I had in view was nothing less than the wreck 
of the enemy’s vessel. 

When I had regained the deck of my galley the anchor 
was weighed, and we put out into the bay, leaving, 
The Gray Wolf and The Winged Horse in the harbor, 
with orders to follow us on the next tide. 

Summoning Calvagh to my side, I unfolded to him 
the course I thought of pursuing, and as much would 
depend on the stoutness and endurance of our rowers 
I enjoined on him to exhort them to be steadfast, and 
not to be thrown into a fury and a frenzy of excitement, 
even when they heard the shots of the Englishman, 
roaring past their ears and we seemed to be going to 
certain destruction. 

They were not to abandon their places at the benches 
unless The Cross of Blood should be so damaged by 
the enemy as to appear to be in a sinking condition. 
Should that disaster be imminent, then, and only 
then would it become a cue of each man for him- 
self. 


THE GATE OF FEARS 


167 

I judged it to be needful to give these instructions 
because while I could trust every one of my men where 
a matter of fighting was concerned, I was not so sure 
that when it came to our running away from it — and 
that was the very soul of my scheme — they would do 
as I wished with an equal heart. For they were of the 
temper in which it is easier to fight and die than to flee 
and live. 

As we drew out from Clare Island the English ship 
was about two miles in front of us, with her bow point- 
ing for the south side of Illamore, between which and 
the rocky islets opposite it there is a clear span of 
water, but before she could come abreast of Illamore 
there was a distance of a couple of leagues of open 
sea. 

She went along lumberingly, and the galley bounding 
forward like a racer under the swift, measured swing of 
the oars, had the speed of her, and began to come up 
with her rapidly. When we were within a mile of her, 
and Illamore perchance a league away, I shifted my 
course and bore off to the north. 

The galley had no doubt been seen by the English- 
men as soon as we had emerged from Clare Island ; and 
now, when they perceived that we were heading away 
from them and going north, they fetched about and 
came round after us. 

Would their captain give chase, or would he content 
himself with noting whither we went and following us 
for a time and then turning about again ? I had felt cer- 
tain from the beginning that he had no pilot on board, 
for where were there any people who knew Clew Bay 
but ourselves ? And sure was I that no O’Malley would 
ever guide a hostile ship through these waters. 


.GRACE O’MALLEY 


l68 

What I feared was that the Englishman might pursue 
us for two or three miles, and then, seeing how thick 
the islands were in that part of the bay and how narrow 
the channels between them, might be deterred from 
proceeding further in our direction, and therefore stand 
off again for the other side of Illamore, as had been 
his purpose at first. 

As I was determined to draw him on at all hazards, 
I made a sign to Calvagh, at whose word our oarsmen 
ceased pulling their great sweeping strokes, and made 
no more than a pretense of rowing, so as only to keep 
steering-way on The Cross of Bloody and to deceive the 
Englishman into imagining that he was catching her 
up, as indeed he was, though not as he understood the 
matter. 

On he came, as I had hoped, the gap between us 
growing less, until a ball fired from his bows fell 
so near as to warn me that we were within range of his 
guns. 

The English vessel was a heavily armed ship, her 
sides bristling with large pieces of ordnance, and it 
would have required not more than a few of her shots, 
had they struck the galley, to send her to the bottom. 
And as there were but two falconets on The Cross of 
Blood, her other cannon having been removed from her 
to the walls of the castle, we were not able to reply to 
the enemy’s fire with any effect. But it was not my 
intention to use these falconets, except to lure him 
into that trap I was setting for him. 

Therefore I shouted to Calvagh, and the galley 
plunged forward again under the strong, full beat of 
the racing-oars as he ran up and down between the 
rowers commanding them to pull for their lives. We 


THE GATE OF FEARS 


169 

could hear the cheering and the laughter on board the 
Englishman as he watched what he took to be our 
frantic efforts to escape. 

And, in truth, we had put on this burst of speed 
none too soon, for the shots now sent after us fell so 
little short of our stern that I was afraid that we were 
lost. But the peril passed, and we quickly drew away. 

And thus for two miles or more the pursuit of us 
went on, the Englishman coming up with us and dis- 
charging his pieces at us as we slacked off rowing, and 
then falling behind us as the oarsmen drove the galley 
on again. I repeated this maneuver several times, 
and once only had a ball struck The Cross of Blood, 
but, as fortune would have it, without inflicting any 
serious injury upon us. 

Now that the supreme moment was almost at hand, 
I became conscious of a singular tumult, a very fever 
in my veins, and that at a time when I desired above 
all things to be calm and self-possessed. 

I was standing by the helmsman as he steered, and 
as I turned to give him the direction, I could see in 
the pallor that showed beneath the brown of his 
skin, in the fixedly gleaming eyes, in the shut lips that 
had no color about them, in the whole tense attitude 
of the man, the visible expression of my own feel- 
ings. 

For there before us lay the islands ; all shapes and 
sizes were they, some grim and bare, others green and 
fair to see ; island upon island, one crowding upon 
the other, as it were, like a wide range of low hills. 

Immediately in front of us a gray, craggy rock reared 
its head ; on one side of it was a small, round islet, a 
gleaming girdle of spray half hiding it, on the other. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


170 

separated from it by a narrow passage, a great rampart 
of black cliffs, on whose heights the eagles loved to 
build, towered aloft into the sky, the waves rolling 
themselves in empty thunders at its feet. 

Beyond this passage was seen a spacious land-locked 
bay as it appeared to be, so closed in did it seem on 
all sides by islands. And through this passage did I 
give command to go. 

There was a mute protest in the look the helmsman 
gave me, for this passage is none other than that called 
the Gate of Fears, and no mariner ever makes use of it 
save from direst necessity, and with many crossings of 
himself and murmured vows. But the galley made a 
half-turn obedient to the helmsman’s hand, and so was 
headed for the dreaded Gate. 

The Englishman was at our heels, bent upon our 
capture or destruction, but when he saw us approach 
this passage he hesitated, and was like to draw back. 
Whereupon I ordered Calvagh to bid the oarsmen stop 
rowing, and bringing the falconet into position trained 
them on the enemy, myself putting the blazing torch 
to the touch-hole. 

At the same time our sailors sent up a loud taunt- 
ing, derisive cry, which was answered back full-throated 
by the English ship. Provoked beyond endurance at 
us, and thinking, it might be, that where a large galley 
like The Cross of Blood might go she might venture 
also, she again came on at us, firing as she came. 

I had to endure an agony of suspense, for there was 
still time for two things to happen, either of which 
would be fatal to my purpose. 

Until the English commander had fairly entered the 
Gate of Fears, and so would be forced to go on, he 


THE GATE OF FEARS 


171 

might hold off after all. That was the first. And to 
tempt him on I had to keep the galley so close to the 
range of his ordnance that it was very probable that 
he might hit and sink her. That was the second. 

He had, however, made up his mind that we were 
within his grasp, and had determined to have us. As 
he came slowly nearer, our oarsmen sent the galley on 
through the passage, and on he moved after us. 

There was now a lull in his cannonading, and a 
strange silence fell upon us all. In tliat silence I 
waited anxiously, a prey to mingled doubts and fears, 
expecting to hear a slight grating, scraping sound, and 
to see the galley shiver and quake as she passed over 
the knife-edges of rocks that He a few feet below the 
surface of the sea at the further end of the Gate. The 
tide was high, as I had reckoned, else I never would 
have attempted it. 

Then there was a sudden tempest of smoke and flame 
from the Englishman, in the midst of which The Cross 
of Blood swayed and reeled as if she had been struck. 
I sickened with apprehension, but the swaying and 
the reeling quickly ceased. We were safely over the 
jagged barrier of rock; we had passed through the 
Gate, and were in the deep water beyond. 

Below me I could see Calvagh’s white, set face as he 
looked up, then, as he realized that we were out of the 
dangers of the passage, a war-chant broke from his 
fierce lips, the oarsmen rowing mightily, and keeping 
time to that savage, deep-chested music of his. 

And on behind us came the unwitting Englishman. 

In a few minutes more, looking towards her, I saw 
her bows tilt up and then plunge high into the air. 
She was lifted up and dashed down again and again 


GRACE O MALLEY 


172 

on the rocks, so that her back broke, and she was torn 
to pieces before my eyes, while some of her sailors 
cast themselves into the water, with outcries and be- 
wailings very piteous to hear, while others got into 
the ship’s boats and put out to sea, where I know not 
what fate overtook them. 

My men clamored that they should be pursued, 
but this I would not suffer, for my end was attained, 
as Sir Nicholas now would have no ordnance for the 
battering down of the walls of Carrickahooley, and must 
therefore raise the seige. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 

Perchance it was that the sinking of this fine ship, 
even though I myself had been the cause of the same — 
the loss of a vessel, I cannot help saying, being a thing 
more to be deplored than the deaths of many human 
beings — had affected my spirits ; or, it may have been 
that my mind, now that the necessity for prompt and 
decisive action had passed, became, as it were, re- 
laxed and unstrung ; but, as The Cross of Blood 
threaded her way through the maze of the islands to- 
wards Carrickahooley, I could think of nothing save 
of how I stood in the debt of De Vilela. 

In vain I strove to comfort myself by recalling the 
successes and the victories that had been achieved by 
and in the name of my mistress, Grace O’Malley, and 
by telling myself that she had won for herself and us 
an imperishable renown. Not thus could I silence the 
voice of my heart, which cried out that all these were 
but as barrenness and as nothingness so long as Eva 
O’Malley was not for me. For there was the pain, 
there the grief and the sadness. 

Against myself did I consider myself called upon to 
fight. I was as deep in the Spaniard’s debt as a man 
could be, and yet I could not bring myself to resign 
all hopes of my dear even to De Vilela, without the 
bitterest struggles. 


173 


174 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


Which of us twain possessed the maid’s love ? Was 
it De Vilela, or was it I ? Did she love either of us ? — 
that was the all-important question. For myself, my 
love had grown with my growth, was, I felt, growing 
still, and would keep on growing as long as I lived. 

De Vilela, however, was a stranger, blown in upon 
us, as it were, by the chance winds of heaven. My 
claim was perhaps the better claim, but a maid’s heart 
acknowledges no real claim but the claim of her love, 
and if her heart’s love was De Vilela’s, then was my 
claim void and empty indeed. 

Therefore, let the maid decide. My thoughts had 
worked round to this point, when I remembered once 
more what Grace O’Malley had said about the Don 
and Eva. What if Eva loved me after all ? Again 
let the maid decide, said I. 

Yet, somehow, this did not altogether satisfy me. 
Then it occurred to me that I might pay a part of my 
debt to De Vilela in the following way. 

He could scarcely tarry much longer with us at the 
castle, as he must soon depart to endeavor to carry 
out the objects of the secret mission with which he 
had been entrusted by his master, the King of Spain. 
The way for him would be clear and open, for I had 
no doubt that Sir Nicholas would not now be able to 
continue the siege, and that we would be left in peace 
and quiet till the spring of the next year, when the 
war would most probably be renewed against us with 
larger forces, and with greater determination, both 
land and sea. But all that lay in the womb of the 
future. 

As for Don Francisco, I thought it likely that he 
would try to make the most of the time that remained 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 


175 

to him before setting out for the Earl of Desmond's, 
that he would ask for Eva’s hand from Grace O’Malley, 
and that thus the matter would be determined. What 
I set myself to do was, so long as he remained at 
Carrickahooley, to keep out of Eva’s presence, and in 
a manner, as it were, to leave the field to De Vilela. 

If the maid loved him, I was out of course ; if she 
loved me, she would tell her foster-sister that she could 
not accept the offer of the Spaniard ; if she cared for 
neither of us, or wavered between us, then I was re- 
solved to forego whatever advantage I possessed over 
De Vilela until he had received his answer and had 
taken his departure. 

If she accepted his suit, they would be married, I 
supposed drearily, before he left, and then they would 
set out together, and that which was unutterably and 
unalterably rare, deaf, and precious would be gone 
out of my life. If Eva willed otherwise, — it all rested 
with her. But, in any case, De Vilela was to have 
his chance free from any mean or unmannerly inter- 
ference from me. 

Little did I guess how severely the strength of my 
resolution was to be tested, but I thank God, now 
that it is all done that it bore the strain. 

It was not much past the middle of the day when 
The Cross of Blood drew up at Carrickahooley, but 
long before we had reached the castle we could hear 
the sounds of battle rolling towards us from off the 
land, and could see the tiny clouds of smoke made by 
the arquebuses as they were fired off. 

Disembarking with all haste, and bringing with me 
most of my crew, I was instantly admitted within the 
water-gate. There I was told that Grace O’Malley, 


GRACE O MALLEY 


176 

with De Vilela, her gentlemen, and most of her people, 
was making a sally on the English. 

Rushing to the parapets, I could see that the center 
of the fighting was between the castle and the Abbey 
of Burrishoole, and that it was of a very terrible and 
bloody character, the Englishmen displaying that 
dogged courage for which they are famed, while the 
Irish, inspired by their mistress, performed wonderful 
feats of valor, and were thrusting their enemies slowly 
back into their principal position where, however, their 
further retreat was speedily checked on their being 
strengthened by fresh supports. 

Now, the purpose of Grace O’Malley, in this onfall, 
could not have extended beyond inflicting upon the 
Governor considerable loss, as she knew his force was 
far superior to her own in numbers, and I was there- 
fore not surprised to witness the Irish at this juncture 
beginning to retreat, the English attacking them fiercely 
in front and on their flanks. 

It was at this instant that Sir Nicholas, who was 
himself directing the operations of his troops, conceived 
that he might cut our people off altogether from the 
castle by sending forward some soldiers he had held 
as a reserve, and placing them between the Irish and 
the castle. 

I could see all this quite plainly from the walls, and, 
fearing lest he might succeed, I summoned my men, 
and, issuing from the castle gate, marched to meet 
this new body of the enemy, in order, if so be I was in 
time, to defeat the attempt, which, if well carried out, 
could not but be attended with the greatest possible 
danger, and perhaps disaster, to my mistress. 

Being delayed by the roughness of the ground from 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 


177 

coming up as quickly as I could have wished, and as 
they had the start of us, the English had effected their 
purpose, and the Irish were surrounded. 

But, as we ran forward, some of the enemy faced 
about to meet us, and so, being taken, as it were be- 
tween two fires — Grace O’Malley, with her men on the 
one side, and I with mine on the other — they were 
speedily thrown into the utmost confusion, of which 
we did not fail to make a good account. Still the con- 
test was by no means entirely in our favor, for the re- 
sistance of the Governor’s soldiers was protracted and 
bitter, each man contending for his own hand with all 
the strength and cunning he was possessed of. 

At length the main body of the Irish under Grace 
O’Malley fought their way through the enemy, and 
joined themselves to us, my mistress being both sur- 
prised and rejoiced to find that we had returned, and 
had been able to come to her assistance. Beside her, 
their swords gleaming redly in their hands, were Brian 
O’Gue and Art, and Henry O’Malley, and the other 
gentlemen of her household, and leaning upon the 
arm of one of them, and supported and protected by 
two men, I beheld De Vilela, desperately wounded ! 

His face was pale, drawn, deep-lined, and spotted 
with blood, the eyes being closed, and the lips shut 
tight ; the figure within his armor was bent with 
weariness, and weakness, and wounds ; the fingers of 
the right hand still grasped the handle of his sword, 
but they shook and trembled as with palsy. Truly, 
he looked like one whose doom is sealed, and my 
heart went out to him with a great compassion. 

Calling to four of my men, who were armed with 
spears, I caused them to make a rough litter with 
12 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


178 

their weapons, and upon this rude, but soldierly, con- 
trivance we laid the Spaniard, and so bore him to the 
castle, while behind us the fight still continued, but 
with less and less fierceness. 

Not a sound came from Don Francisco, although 
the jolting must have given him the most intense 
pain, save once when my mistress took his hand and 
spoke to him, when he made reply in Spanish that “ all 
was well ” with him. And I thought the words were 
not unworthy, but well became the brave soul of the 
man. 

“ I will go in with him,” said Grace O’Malley to me, 
when we had arrived at the gate ; “ Ruari, do you 
gather our people together, and lead them within the 
walls.” 

And I did her bidding, so that in a short time 
I had them collected in a compact body, and under 
cover of the ordnance, belching forth from the battle- 
ments, retreated within the gate, bearing most of our 
wounded with us. There I found Grace O’Malley wait- 
ing to hear the news I had brought. 

“ De Vilela? ” I first inquired. 

“ He is still alive,” said she, “ but I fear the hour of 
his passing is already upon him.” 

“ ’Fore God,” cried I, with a sob in my throat, “ I 
trust not.” 

“ Eva tends him,” said she — and in a flash I remem- 
bered everything. 

“ He is in good keeping,” said I. 

“ He is in the hands of God,” said she, in a voice 
and manner so touched with unwonted solemnity and 
deep feeling, that I gazed at her in amazement. 

Then a wild thought came to me : could she, did 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 


179 

she, our princess, care for this man ? But no sooner 
had the thought arisen in my mind than I dismissed 
it. “ What have I to do with love ? ” she had said on 
a former occasion, and she had meant it. 

Her next words, however, appeared to give point 
to my suspicion, but when I considered them more 
carefully, I saw I was wrong. For what she had said 
was, “There are few men like Don Francisco,’' but 
the tone in which they were spoken was not that, it 
seemed to me, of a woman who loves ; rather was it 
that of one who deplores the expected loss of a dear 
friend. Yet sometimes, in the silent w’atches of the 
night, have I wondered — and I wonder still. 

“ We have heard the roar of great guns from time 
to time this morning,” said she, changing the subject 
abruptly, “ and, knowing that you had no ordnance to 
speak of, I feared for your safety. Tell me what has 
happened.” 

Whereupon I related all that had taken place, and 
how that the English war-vessel had been dashed to 
pieces on the rocks at the hither end of the Gate of 
Fears. 

Much I spoke in praise of Calvaghand the rowers of 
The Cross of Bloody and said that it was fitting they 
should be given a rich reward, for, notwithstanding the 
terrors inspired in all seafaring men by the place, and 
in spite of the ordnance of the Englishman making the 
passage like the mouth of hell, they had stood fast 
every one. 

“ And what of yourself ? ” cried she, between smiles 
and tears. “ What of yourself, my Ruari ? ” 

And she took from the mantle upon her shoulder a 
brooch of gold, with mystic signs, of which I knew not 


i8o 


GRACE O MALLEY 


the meaning, engraved upon it, and in the midst of it 
a sapphire, with the deep blue in it of the unfathomed 
abysses of the sea. This she handed to me, one of her 
arms about my neck, and I was uplifted with pride, 
albeit there was some shame mixed with it too. But 
the gift I compelled myself to decline. 

“ I may not take it,” cried I ; for the brooch was 
one of the tokens of her chieftainship to her people^ 
and firmly resolved was I that there, in the land of her 
fathers, no man should ever have the slightest cause to 
think there was any other chief save she, and she alone. 
But if I took the brooch — “ No,” said I, I may not 
take it. 

Then seeing I was determined, she sighed, said no 
more, but kissed me on the cheek — a thing she had 
not done since I was a little child, playing with her, a 
child too, on the sands of the shores of Clew Bay. 

Thereafter together we went into the chamber of 
the main tower where De Vilela had been laid. There 
by his couch was my dear, a presence soft, tender, and 
full of sweet womanly pity, and of the delicate minis- 
tries that spring from it. There upon a couch lay the 
wreck of a man ; so calm, so pale, so worn, that he 
looked like one dead. 

** He still breathes,” said Eva, in a whisper. 

Perhaps it was the result of the conversation I had 
just had with Grace O’Malley, or, it may have been 
the subtle influence of that scene, with that quiet figure 
stretched upon the couch for its center, but there was 
no bitterness in my breast when I saw Eva there. 
Who, indeed, could have felt any other emotion at 
such a time but that of sorrow ? 

For two days De Vilela hung between life and 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 


l8l 


death. More than once did it seem that his spirit had 
left his shattered body, and yet it did not. On the 
third day the Spaniard rallied; Teigue O’Toole, our 
physician, declared that there was hope ; and from 
that instant Don Francisco began slowly to recover. 

All within the castle rejoiced, and I as much as any, 
but when I saw how constantly Eva was with him, 
and how the sick man was restless and uneasy in her 
brief absences from his side, and how she watched over 
and soothed and tended him, her mere presence being 
a better restorative than all the healing simples of 
Teigue O’Toole, is it to be marveled at that I found 
the determination I had come to of leaving the field 
open to him, and of withdrawing from it, become more 
and more difficult to maintain ? 

Neither did Sir Nicholas nor his army help greatly 
to distract my thoughts. For there, outside our walls 
at a safe distance from our cannon, did the Governor lie 
day after day for a long week, waiting, doubtless, for 
the warship that never came. 

We did not, on our side, stir out of the castle, for 
whatever advantage, if any, had been reaped from the 
sally had been purchased at too heavy a price. Grace 
O’Malley rightly had come to the conclusion that we 
had everything to gain by sitting still, and that Sir 
Nicholas, seeing that he would do nothing against us 
without ordnance, would soon grow tired of this futile 
business, and so go back to Galway. 

Whether he had heard in some way that the vessel 
he had expected had been wrecked, or fearing that 
events had happened which had prevented it from 
being sent at all by Winter, the English Admiral, I 
know not ; but one night he stole quietly away from 


i 82 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


Burrishoole, and when the morning was come, lo, there 
was not an Englishman anywhere to be seen. 

It was an unfortunate coincidence in one respect 
that the very morning which saw the siege raised, 
should also have witnessed the arrival of Richard 
Burke, attended by fifty horsemen, and more than a 
hundred gallowglasses, for if we could have counted 
on such a number of fighting men in addition to our 
own, we should certainly have again attacked the 
Governor’s forces and not stood so much upon our 
defense. 

But in another respect it fell out luckily enough for 
us, and this was that there was nothing more certain 
than that Sir Nicholas, as he retreated toward Galway, 
would drive before him all the cattle and horses of the 
country, and thus he would, after all, unless prevented, 
gather an enormous spoil, depriving us, and those who 
looked to us for protection, of a great part of our 
wealth. And already he had done us a vast amount 
of injury and harm. 

So soon, therefore, as Richard Burke, who was sorely 
disappointed that he had not reached Carrickahooley 
sooner, had come into the castle, and had been received 
and entertained by my mistress, from whom he heard 
a narrative of what had recently occurred, Grace 
O’Malley proposed that he and I should set out with 
a large force to endeavor to recover from the English 
the plunder they were taking away. And to this the 
MacWilliam gladly assented, observing that no pro- 
posal could please him better than to take part in get- 
ting back her property for her. 

“And,” continued he, “as it is impossible for Sir 
Nicholas to move quickly, hampered as he must be 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 1 83 

with many herds of cattle and bands of horses, we can 
catch him up before he has gone very far/’ 

“You will also have many opportunities,” said Grace 
O’Malley, “ of which I am sure you will not fail to 
make the most, of coming upon detatched bodies of 
his troops as they struggle through the thick forests 
and the passes of the mountains, and of cutting them 
off. You can harass and harry him nearly every step 
of his retreat, so that when he at length reaches Gal- 
way it will be with greatly lessened forces, and with so 
slender a spoil that he will not care to boast of it.” 

“You would not offer him battle? ” asked I. . 

“You must be the judges of that for yourselves,” 
said she; “but Sir Nicholas is a fine soldier, and as 
wary in warfare as a fox, and I think you can do him 
far more deadly hurt by acting as I have said. You 
will risk but little, and may gain much.” 

Then Grace O’Malley and Richard Burke began 
talking of what prospect there was of a general rising 
of the Irish against the Queen, and of the help that 
might be looked for from Philip of Spain, and of other 
matters, some of which, I suspect, lay even nearer the 
heart of one of them, at least. 

But of this I cannot tell, for when they commenced 
to speak of affairs of State, I went out from the hall in 
which they were to get my men in readiness to pursue 
the English. And welcome to me was it that our ex 
pedition, and its hard service, held out the promise of 
drawing off my thoughts from Eva and de Vilela. 

I was eager that we should make a start at once, but 
the Burkes were weary and footsore with their long, 
toilsome journey. All that day, then, they rested, 
Grace O’Malley giving them and all in the castle a 


GRACE O MALLEY 


184 

great feast, filling them with food and wine, while her 
harpers stirred their souls with songs of the mighty 
deeds done by the mighty dead. 

Songs, too, they made to music now sweet, now 
fierce, in honor of my mistress, acclaiming her as not 
the least in the long list of a line of heroes ! Where- 
upon the castle rang with tumultuous shoutings of 
applause. Then the minstrels cunningly turned their 
themes to the Burkes of Mayo, English once, but Irish 
now, aye, even more Irish than the Irish themselves. 

And so the day passed. 

In the morning we left Carrickahooley with a hun- 
dred horsemen and a hundred running footmen, be- 
sides horse-boys and others. Behind us came many 
of the fugitives who had come to us fleeing from 
before the English, and who now were returning to 
their homes, or to what poor charred remains of them 
might be found. 

As we moved swiftly on, we saw many evidences of 
the havoc wrought by the ruthless invaders ; here the 
hut of the wood-kerne, who lives by hunting, there the 
hovel of the churl, who tills the fields burned to the 
ground ; while over all brooded the silence of desola- 
tion and death. 

It was not till evening was upon us that we knew by 
many indications that we were close on the enemy. 
Then we halted and waited till the night had fully come, 
sending out in the meantime our spies to see what the 
English were doing. 

Softly, like thieves, they returned with word that 
they had discovered Sir Nicholas and the greater por- 
tion of his army were not to be seen, having apparently 
gone on, but that a small company of English soldiers 


THE SIEGE IS RAISED 


185 

and most of the O’Flahertys of Aughnamure were 
camped some two or three miles away, having in their 
charge great droves of cattle. Having no thought that 
they were being followed up by us, they had made no 
preparations for defense, and therefore might easily 
fall into our hands. 

Leaving our chargers to the care of the horse-boys, 
we divided ourselves into two bands, Richard Burke 
being in command of the one, and I of the other, and, 
going very circumspectly so as to give no hint of our 
approach, we burst upon the enemy, many of whom 
were slain at the first onset, but a far larger number 
escaped us in the darkness. We spent the rest of 
the night in their camp, having secured the cattle ; 
and when daylight made manifest everything to us I 
saw that we had accomplished all this victory without 
the loss of a single man, there being but few wounds 
even among us. 

Then we rode on that day and two more, now and 
again falling in with scattered companies of the enemy 
whom we slew or dispersed, and recovering from them 
whatever plunder they were taking out of the land. 
But Sir Nicholas we did not meet with, as he had gone 
on day and night without halting, having heard, as I 
afterwards learned, that the Burkes of Clanrickarde, 
under Ulick, the son of the earl, had brought together 
several hundred men, including many Scots, and that 
they were even now threatening Galway itself. 

As we were not purposed to go on to Galway after 
the Governor, we returned to Carrickahooley at our 
leisure. 

And now, as we journeyed northwards, Richard 
Burke’s talk to me was all of his love for my mistress. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


1 86 

How brave, how strong, how great she was ! And of 
how wonderful a spirit and so wise withal ! Did I 
think that she had a regard for any one in especial ? 
Or, that he might have a chance with her? 

And thus he talked and talked, until I, who had my 
own love trouble, and found it hard enough, was first 
constrained to listen, then to utter words of sympathy, 
and, last of all, was unfeignedly glad when our arrival 
at the castle put a stop to the outflowing of his elo- 
quence. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“ OUR NATURAL LEADER.” 

The Earl of Desmond,” said Grace O’Malley to 
me, “ is our natural leader against the English, and I 
wish you to go and see him.” 

These words my mistress addressed to me shortly 
after Richard Burke and I had returned. She and I 
were alone, and, indeed, she had sent for me expressly 
so that I knew it was some matter of importance she 
wished to speak to me. I had not anticipated, how- 
ever, that it would be this. 

“Yes,” I said, “ When do you desire me to go? De 
Vilela will hardly be able to be moved for some time 
yet, and I suppose that he will accompany me.” 

Don Francisco was better, but several weeks would 
have to elapse before he would stand on his feet or 
even be moved from his bed with safety. 

“ No,” said she. “ I do not think it prudent to wait 
so long a period as may have to pass before De Vilela 
has sufficiently recovered. You must take Fitzgerald 
with you, and set out at once for the Desmond strong- 
hold at Askeaton. Fitzgerald is now nearly well, his 
wound being all but healed. He possesses something 
of the confidence of the King of Spain, which Don 
Francisco enjoys to the full, and is therefore in a posi- 
tion to speak with Desmond, and to find out what his 
intentions are.” 


87 


i88 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ As you will/' said I, not without gladness, for it 
would be a way, and that a perfect one, to enable me 
to keep my resolution with regard to Eva and De 
Vilela — if I were out of the castle altogether, then in- 
deed would the field be left to him alone. But, at the 
same time, there was a gripping about my heart that 
certainly was not caused by pleasure. 

“ It would be most unwise to delay,” continued she. 
“ Sir Nicholas Malby will come against us so soon as 
he can raise a large army — if not Sir Nicholas, then 
another — if not this year, and he will scarcely do so 
now the winter approaches, then next year. And thus 
will the contest go on till the end has come. Under 
Desmond, the head of the Geraldines, the greatest 
noble of the South, all the Irish people will rally.” 

My mistress’s voice was full of excitement ; but I 
was not so sure of Desmond, and so made haste to 
remind her that he had been out against the Queen 
before, and had got nothing but imprisonment and 
grievous loss for his pains. 

“ It is not the same now,” replied she, with her 
ardor undiminished ; “ for Philip of Spain will throw 
his sword into the balance. When Desmond under- 
stands that he will be backed up by the ships and the 
soldiers and the money of Spain, he will throw off all 
irresolution, and show himself to be the great prince 
he is. Tell him that we are with him heart and soul. 
Tell him that the Burkes, both the Upper and the 
Lower Burkes, will forget their feuds, and unite for this 
one common purpose. Tell him there will be no lack 
of treasure ; and as an earnest of this we will now go 
to the Caves of Silence, and take from thence the chest 
of gold found on the Capitana — I have spoken to De 


“ OUR NATURAL LEADER ” 189 

Vilela about it — and some gems as well, as a present 
from me/’ 

My mistress’s mind was made up, and vain would it 
have been for me to try to cause her to change her 
determination. And why should I try? Was not 
what she said true? Was not Desmond a prince in 
the land? If he could not be depended upon to lead 
us against the English, then on whom could we depend ? 
So I stifled whatever of doubt I felt. Grace O’Malley 
was my leader, and if she were content with Garrett 
Desmond, then so was I. 

We went together to the Caves of Silence, and 
brought away from them the chest of gold, a casket 
richly chased and adorned with rare jewels, and a dag- 
ger, the handle and sheath of which were studded 
with precious stones. 

“ What hatred of the English may not accomplish,” 
said my mistress, “ gold will. Many a good sword 
may be bought when neither love nor hate would af- 
fect aught ; many a waverer made steadfast on the 
rock of gold.” 

I was to sail early next morning in The Cross of Blood, 
and in the evening when I sat in the hall, she straight- 
ly charged me that I was on no account to adventure 
the ship or myself in any sort of peril, and that I was 
not to attack any vessel, however fair and goodly a 
prize it might seem ; nay, on the contrary, I must keep 
out of the track of ships as far as was practicable. 

When the two ladies left us for the night, and I rose 
to bid them farewell for a time, I held Grace O’Mal- 
ley’s hand, and she pressed mine warmly. I would 
have given all that I had in the world, or ever hoped 
to possess of it, if Eva would but have clasped my 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


190 

hand with something of the same fervor, or that I 
could have held hers and caressed it with a lover’s 
fondness. 

And the eyes of my dear, too, were soft and kind, 
so that my heart cried out for a token, but my debt to 
De Vilela stood between us, and I only touched the 
little hand. 

She looked at me somewhat strangely, I fancied, as 
if the coldness of my manner made her marvel, and I 
think that there perhaps was a faint gleam of laugh- 
ing malice in the face of Grace O’Malley who stood 
by. But in the morning, there, at the window high 
up the tower, were to be seen both my mistresses, with 
their fingers to their lips kissing me good-by, as the 
galley was pulled out from the harbor. 

It was now October, a month of storms, and we had 
to encounter head winds, heavy seas, and much stress 
of weather, so that our progress southward was slow. 
Keeping close in shore, we took advantage of what- 
ever protection the coast, or the islands along it, af- 
forded us, having frequently to put in and stop in one 
or another of the bays of Connaught. 

A full week was thus taken up before we had gotten 
through the South Sound between Inisheer and the 
mainland, and, with the exception of some fishing 
boats, we had had the sea to ourselves. 

As we passed down the rocky, mountain-crowned 
coast, we were sorely buffeted and wrought upon by 
the winds and waves. By the time we were abreast 
of the Cliffs of Moher, so furious a tempest was raging, 
that I feared we never would live through it. 

The stoutness of the galley, however, and perhaps 
some skill of seamanship, brought us safely to the 


“ OUR NATURAL LEADER " 191 

Head of Cregga, which we essayed to round, but ex- 
perienced so great a travail in the doing of it, albeit 
we did it, that we were well-nigh exhausted with the 
labor. But, once round the Head, we found ourselves 
in a stretch of water which, by comparison with that 
we had gone over, was as a quiet pool, to wit, the Bay of 
Liscanor. 

And here we remained for some hours, looking for 
such an abatement of the storm as would allow us to 
proceed ; but in this our hope was not to be realized 
as soon as we had expected, for the night fell, and the 
fury of the tempest was not spent. 

The first object that met our gaze when the light of 
morning had come was a ship, all her masts gone, and 
the waves sweeping over her, go driving to her doom 
on the rocks of Cregga. As now her bows, now her 
stern was lifted up, so that we got a full view of her 
hull, there was that about her that seemed to me not 
unfamiliar, but I could not say then what it was. 
Clutching the ropes and bolts on and about what re- 
mained of her bulwarks, were a few men, clinging 
desperately in the face of death to their last hold on 
life. 

There was no possibility of the ship being saved, and 
there was hardly a greater likelihood of saving the lives 
of any of these miserable sailors, but I resolved to make 
the attempt, at least. 

Bringing up The Cross of Blood as near as I dared 
to the Head, and having made ready to lower her two 
small boats, I waited for the moment when the vessel 
would crash upon the rocks, and be crushed and broken 
upon them. As she neared the cliffs, the spume of 
the waves shooting high and white in the air, the foam- 


192 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


ing, roaring waters, dashed back by the rocks, caught 
and twisted her about, so that, as her side was 
turned to us, I saw her name in letters of white and 
gold. 

She was the Rosemary^ a shot from which had caused 
the death of my master, Owen O'Malley, a few months 
before, and well did I remember how I saw her sail up 
the Shannon on her way to Limerick, with the two 
eerie figures shadowed against her canvas. 

For an instant I felt an impulse to stand off, and to 
make no effort to avert the fate of any of her men — 
it was uncertain, I told myself, whether at the best I 
could render them any assistance. But, after all, we 
had no quarrel with these .wretched mariners about to 
be swallowed up by the ever-hungry sea, and, if we had 
had, this extremity of theirs was of a kind which we 
could not look upon as our opportunity and have been 
worthy of the name of men. 

Therefore, when the Rosemary rose to the waves for 
the last time, and was borne aloft on the black edge 
of a huge roller, and then shattered to fragments upon 
the rocks, did we keep a sharp lookout for the bodies, 
living or dead, if any which might appear on the water 
near where we were. 

And five poor souls, by means of our boats, did we 
save alive, or, being as the dead, did bring to life again 
— and one of them was a woman. 

Surely this was the queerest trick that fate ever 
played upon me, for the woman was none other than 
Sabina Lynch ! Nor do I wonder that, when she had 
come to herself, and, seeing me, knew upon whose ship 
she was, she did imagine that she had but escaped 
from one kind of death to meet with another, and that 


OUR NATURAL LEADER 


193 


(( 


perhaps worse : for she had to be restrained, and that 
by force, from casting herself back into the sea, pre- 
ferring that to being in my hands. 

And, verily, I was in a grievous quandary with regard 
to her. 

She would not eat nor drink nor rest nor sleep, but 
only cried and sobbed and moaned, till she fell into a 
sort of stupor. Recovering after awhile, she did naught 
but cry and sob and moan again, and was so distraught 
that I felt a pity for her. Then, what was I to do 
with her? True, I could keep her a captive, and take 
her back with me when I returned to Carrickahooley, 
and give her over to my mistress, who would doubtless 
accord her the grimmest of welcomes. And this, per- 
haps, was my duty. If it was, I failed in it. 

Urged on by a woman’s spite and jealousy, Sabina 
Lynch had played a treacherous and cruel part in 
regard to Grace O’AIalley, and she was, in a measure,, 
the cause of our quarrel with Sir Nicholas and the 
English. Sure was I that my mistress would not be 
merciful to her, nor would she expect me to be. Why, 
then, should I have been. 

I have no other answer, if it be an answer, except 
that I was deep in love with Eva O’Malley, and that 
my love for her made me feel certain that Eva, much 
as Grace was to her — as to me — would have told me 
to act, as I did towards this woman. For I determined 
to let her go free. 

It is not in me to explain this matter further, nor 
to tell how often I argued it with myself, ever coming 
back, however, to what I conceived would be the 
desire of Eva — to let Sabina Lynch go. And if the 
other course was my duty, there was meted out to me, 

13 


194 GRACE O'MALLEY 

as will be seen, punishment out of all proportion to my 
fault. 

Having come to the conclusion that Sabina Lynch 
should be set at liberty when a suitable opportunity 
presented itself, I acquainted her with my decision. 
She could scarcely believe her ears, and was not con- 
vinced that I meant what I said until 1 informed her 
that she might move about the galley as she pleased, 
and that I would put her ashore at Liscanor if she 
wished it, or take her on with us if that was her will. 

When she saw that I did not intend to deceive her, 
or to do her any hurt, she told me that she was going 
to Limerick. Inquiring why she had left Galway, I 
now heard of the rising of the Upper Burkes under 
Ulick, the son of the Earl of Clanrickarde, which had 
caused Sir Nicholas to hurry back to that city — as I 
have before recorded. It appeared that the people of 
Galway were in the extreme of terror, as nearly all the 
fighting men of the place had been withdrawn from it, 
and from Athlone, where was the next English garri- 
son, as well, for the expedition against Grace O’Malley, 
and the city was thus left without defenders. 

The Burkes had met with no resistance on their 
march to Galway, and the city was in great danger of 
being taken and sacked. A way out, however, re- 
mained, by the sea ; and, so grave was the state of 
affairs, that Stephen Lynch, the mayor, had gladly 
availed himself of an opportunity of sending his 
daughter away for safety by the Rosemary, which hap- 
pened to be leaving for Limerick. Along with her had 
also gone several ladies of Galway, but they had all 
perished in the wreck. 

I now informed Sabina Lynch that I was bound for 


“ OUR NATURAL LEADER ” 195 

the Shannon, and that I would put her ashore at some 
point on the river near Limerick, if our voyage had a 
favorable termination, but that I thought it would be 
better for her to land here at Liscanor. 

However, she replied that she had friends at Lim- 
erick, but knew no one in Liscanor, and so begged to 
be allowed to remain on The Cross of Blood. She pre- 
vailed upon me with her entreaties, and I consented — 
wherein, God wot, I was weak enough, though nothing 
short of her death could have prevented what was to 
occur. 

There is a saying among us Celts, “ What will be, 
already isf and this saying is true. 

The day which succeeded that on which the Rose- 
viary was destroyed saw us out of the Bay of Liscanor, 
and, the weather being propitious, the next found us 
entering the mouth of that most beautiful of all the 
beautiful rivers of Ireland, the Shannon. But it was 
not until two days later that I brought the galley into 
the bay of the creek upon which, some miles inland, 
stands Askeaton, the fortress of the Desmonds. 

During this time, being fully occupied with the 
working of the ship, I had seen little or nothing of 
Mistress Lynch, who, however, had had many conver- 
sations with Fitzgerald, and often did I hear them 
laughing and jesting, the one with the other, as if there 
were no such things in the world as bad weather and 
storms, and shipwrecks and war, and the deaths of 
men. 

Now the bay in which the galley lay was no great 
distance from Limerick, and as it would have been the 
height of madness to go any nearer that city, which 
could not but be very hostile to us, I told Sabina 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


196 

Lynch that our journey was at an end, and that she 
was free to go. Whereupon she thanked me, and 
along with Fitzgerald, who had offered himself as her 
escort for part of the way, and who was well ac- 
quainted with the country — for it was all the territory 
of the Geraldines — left The Cross of Blood. 

On his return, he and I, accompanied by some of 
our men, and taking with us the presents sent by my 
mistress, set out for Askeaton, where we were received 
by the Earl of Desmond. 

The castle was one of the largest and most formi- 
dable in Ireland, consisting of several towers and 
strongly built houses and stables, the whole surrounded 
by high walls around which flowed the waters of the 
creek, so that it looked like a town on an island in 
the middle of a lake. A village with a church at 
one end of it, stood on the rising ground that led up 
from one of the banks of the stream over against the 
castle. 

When the drawbridge was lowered — Fitzgerald 
making the matter of an entrance easy for us — and we 
had passed within the walls, I saw in the yard a con- 
siderable number of the gallowglasses of the Geral- 
dines, some having arquebuses, but most of them only 
spears or battle-axes and swords. 

One of the knights of the Earl’s household ap- 
proached us, and said that his lord was ready to see 
us. Fitzgerald and he — they were cousins it appeared 
— began at once to talk, and they introduced me to 
several other gentlemen whom we met. And so we 
went into the presence of the Earl. 

Grace O’Malley had said that he was “our natural 
leader ” against the English, and narrowly did I scan 


“ OUR NATURAL LEADER ” 197 

the features of Garett Desmond as he rose from his 
chair to offer me his hand. 

My first impression was that of extraordinary disap- 
pointment, for I could see nothing very notable about 
him. Then, as he spoke, I noticed a twitching of the 
lips, that strongly savored of indecision, to say the least, 
and also that his eyes roamed restlessly, not settling 
fixedly on man or thing for a single instant. And as 
I observed him the closer, the keener was my disap- 
pointment. 

Yet this noble was a great power in the land. Once 
the Desmond war-cry was sounded forth from Askeaton^ 
thousands would shake their spears in ready response. 
He had but to say the word and the whole southwest 
of Ireland would spring to arms. He had said it once 
and might say it again, but I distrusted and misliked 
him from the first. 

Courteously, however, did he receive me, and gra- 
ciously the gifts which I presented to him in the name 
of my mistress. He inquired of me many things re- 
specting her, to all of which I replied to the best of my 
ability. Indeed, during the time I spent at Askeaton, 
he never appeared weary of hearing about her and her 
exploits, which seemed, he said, incredible in one so 
young. 

Then, after we had feasted together, he called Fitz- 
gerald and myself aside and took us into an inner room 
where we three were by ourselves. And now Fitz- 
gerald told him of the help, both in men and money, 
which Philip of Spain promised in the event of a general 
rising against the Queen, and I repeated to him all the 
words which Grace O’Malley had charged me to say to 
him. 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


198 

Never once did I take my glance off him, but he 
would not meet my eyes. For the most part he paced 
up and down the room, and one could easily see the 
travail of his mind in the working of hfs face. At one 
moment there would be gladness and the look of re- 
solve, then doubt and gloom would take their place 
the next. The same uncertainty could be seen even 
in his walk, which was now swift, now slow. 

At last he said that it was a heavy matter, and not 
lightly to be undertaken, and invdted me to stay at 
the castle until he had considered it more at large. I 
pressed for an immediate reply to my mistress, but he 
asked me to tarry for a few days, and, as I could not 
well do otherwise, there did I remain until one morn- 
ing he gave me a letter for Grace O’Malley and many 
presents for her and myself, and so dismissed me. 

During the time I waited for his answer I heard from 
several that a Spanish army was looked for in the 
spring, and I could see that the Earl knew all that was 
going on. Therefore I did not doubt but that he had 
sent a message to my mistress that would please her 
well. 

And while I was thus waiting, the hours hanging 
heavily on my hands, I made myself well acquainted 
with the castle — its towers and strong rooms and 
walls — and thus acquired a knowledge which was 
to stand me in good stead before the end was come. 

Then it was Ho! for The Cross of Bloody 2ind Ho! for 
Carrickahooley, which we reached after a voyage un- 
marked by any incident worthy of record. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A D E A R V I C r O R Y 

Chiefly by reason of the tempestuous weather, my 
journey to Askeaton and back again had occupied not 
far short of a month, — which was a much longer time 
than had been reckoned upon. On my arrival at 
Carrickahooley my mistress was naturally very impatient 
to hear what was the response of the Earl of Desmond 
to her message, and also what my opinion of that noble 
was. 

First of all I delivered to her the letter and the pres- 
ents he had sent. When she had read his letter she 
handled it to me, and there was, I could see, a 
great light of happiness on her face. But when I had 
glanced over the missive, I was not so satisfied with its 
contents as she plainly was. 

The letter was not a long one, and, in brief, was noth- 
ing more or less than an invitation from Desmond, ask- 
ing my mistress to go on a visit to him at Askeaton, 
where his countess would give her a warm welcome, so 
soon as spring was come, or as early as would be con- 
venient for her. 

With regard to any rising against the Queen he said 
not a word, but intimated that he was very desirous 
of meeting one of whom he had heard so much, and of 
discussing with her such matters as affected their 
mutual interests. 


199 


200 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


This last phrase Grace O’Malley took as a hint 
that the Earl, not caring to commit himself to any- 
thing definite on paper, was of the same mind as her- 
self, for they had no interest in common save such 
as lay in the expulsion of the English from the 
island. 

Now the message my mistress had sent him was 
frank and open, so that there could not be two opinions 
as to its import. But these words of his, it seemed to 
me, partook in no degree of the same character. They 
might mean much or little or even nothing at all, so 
vague were they. 

If I had not seen the Earl my view might have 
been different, but in the cloudiness, of his letter, I 
again saw his weakness and want of purpose. I did 
not, I could not, suspect him of anything worse. 
However, Grace O’Malley, although I expressed to her 
what I felt about Desmond, was assured that he could 
only mean one thing, and that was that he shared in 
her ideas, and would be ready to give such effect to 
them as he could. 

“Yes,” said she, “ Garrett Desmond is the man.” 

And she was the more certain of this when I went 
on to tell her that I had heard a great deal at Askeaton, 
and that with hardly a pretense of secrecy, of the army 
which the King of Spain was to send in aid of the Irish 
the following year. 

“ Do you not see,” said she, “ that Desmond must 
be heart and soul in the business, or else he would have 
suffered none of this talk of Philip of Spain?” 

I had indeed, made a similar reflection when at 
Desmond’s castle, but what I distrusted was the 
character and strength of the man himself. But my 


A DEAR VICTORY 201 

mistress was my mistress, so I said no more then of 
the Earl. 

I had had no small disputings with myself as to 
whether I should tell Grace O’Malley about what had 
occurred with respect to Sabina Lynch or not. I could 
not blame myself, albeit these very searchings of my 
spirit did show some doubt if I had done what was 
best, and tell I did. 

Whereupon for a minute she fell into a fit of silent 
rage, which, however, presently passed away — the only 
thing she said being the question, sharply asked : 

“ Would you have acted in that way, Ruari, if it had 
been a man ? ” 

And the sting of the taunt, for such I felt it to be, 
lay perhaps in its truth. Howbeit, neither of us ever 
referred in speaking to each other, to the matter 
again. 

Richard Burke and his followers had left the castle, 
and had gone back to their own territory. He had 
made me the confidant of his hopes and fears with 
regard to his love for Grace O’Malley and I desired 
greatly to know how he had sped in his wooing. 

It was not, however, till long afterwards that I dis- 
covered he had pressed his suit, and that not altogether 
without success, but that she would give him no definite 
promise so long as her affairs were in so unstable a con- 
dition. 

I did not know of any man in all the world whom 
I esteemed a fit mate for her, but the MacWilliam had 
many things in his favor, not the least being that he 
was a valiant soldier. That he had ranged himself on 
her side in her quarrel with the Governor also had its 
weight with her. I think, however, that at this time 


202 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


he had a very small share in her thoughts, as she was 
entirely wrapped up in the Earl of Desmond, Avhom 
she looked upon as the Hope of Ireland, and in the 
furtherance of her plans. 

De Vilela was still at Carrickahooley, and had so far 
got healed of his wounds that he was able to be about 
for an hour or two each day. He greeted me with his 
never-failing courtesy, and after I had seen more of 
him I noticed that the air of melancholy gravity he had 
borne during the siege had in nowise changed unless 
by being even deeper than before. 

The suffering he had undergone and the feebleness 
he still endured might easily have accounted for this. 
But I was persuaded that there was another reason, 
although it took me some time to arrive at this con- 
clusion. 

What put me in the way of it was that I caught him, 
when he believed himself free from observation, look- 
ing at me, not once, nor twice but often, with a wistful 
intentness, as if he were trying to read my very 
thoughts, and so to pierce to the innermost soul of me. 
Why was this ? Why was he thus weighing me as it 
were in the balance ? 

Eva was not so much with him now that he was re- 
gaining his strength, and, whether he was with her or 
not, he had not the look of a happy lover, that look 
which, methinks, would be present notwithstanding 
pain and the shadow of death. 

And I put the two things together, though not 
hastily, for I feared nothing so much as to be wrong 
in this, and guessed that he had lost all hope of her 
for himself, and was asking himself whether, if so be 
she loved me, I was in any way worthy of her. But I 


A DEAR VICTORY 


203 


think the chief care of this very noble gentleman 
of Spain was not pity for himself, nor my worthiness or 
unworthiness — which is the. truer word, but that this 
woman whom he loved should have her heart’s desire, 
on whomsoever that desire might fall, and at whatso- 
ever cost to himself. 

I did not perceive this in one day, or for many, and 
pursuing the course I had before determined on, abode 
firm in my resolve not to appear even to come between 
him and Eva O’Malley. 

The winter wore on to the day of the Birth of Christ, 
and all was quiet and peaceful in Connaught. 

Hardly, however, did the new year open — it was that 
year of grace, 1579 — when messengers from various 
chiefs in the northwest of Ireland began coming to and 
going away from Carrickahooley. 

Sometimes their business was with my mistress, but 
still more frequently was it with De Vilela, for it had 
"one abroad that he was with us, and that he was in 
the confidence of the King of Spain, from whom he 
had a mission to the Irish. Among these were some 
of the MacSweenys of Tir-Connall, who spoke for them- 
selves and also for their prince, O’Donnell, whose wife 
was a Macdonald, and a kinsw^oman of my own. Many 
were the plots on foot, my mistress striving to bring 
about a great confederacy of the north. 

Sir Nicholas Malby, after he had repulsed the Burkes 
of Clanrickarde and driven them back to their moun- 
tains, lay at Galway darkly meditating schemes of 
vengeance. But, for the present, with the land all about 
him in a ferment, he did nothing but bide his time. 

Indeed, by the coming of spring, the whole island 
was stirring with the fever of war, some looking to 


204 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


Spain, and some to Desmond, so that the commanders 
of the English, from the Lord Deputy at Dublin to 
the poorest of his captains, were in sore trouble and 
disquiet. 

So passed the winter away. 

“ Darkness and blood ; then a little light,” had been 
the saying of Teige O’Toole, the Wise Man. Now 
was the time of the little light of which he had spoken ; 
it was immediately to be followed by the period of 
which he had said, “ blood and darkness, then again 
light, but darkness were better.” 

It was in April, then, of this year of fate that, De 
Vilela having perfectly recovered of his wounds, Grace 
O’Malley bade me get The Cross of Blood in readiness 
to convey him to Askeaton. 

De Vilela was anxious to be gone, having tres- 
passed upon our hospitality, as he said, beyond all 
measure. And he was the more eager as now he knew 
for certain that Eva had nothing stronger than a 
friendship for him. He had not asked her, I imagine, 
so sure was he that she did not love him, and it was 
like the man, that, knowing this, he would not vex her 
even with words. 

At the last moment, and unexpected!}^, my mistress 
determined to sail with us, and Eva O’Malley also 
came, Tibbot being left in charge at Clare Island and 
Carrickahooley. 

With fair winds, and hopes as fair, did we leave 
Clare Bay behind us, and for two days all went well. 
On the third day of the voyage, the wind having 
changed, the watch descried a ship coming up against 
the line of the sky, and when we had observed her 
for a short time we saw that she was making towards 


A DEAR VICTORY 205 

US — being much higher out of the water than the galley, 
she had no doubt seen us first. 

We edged in closer to the land, which loomed up 
some miles away on our left ; whereupon she shifted 
her course as if to cut us off. As she came within 
nearer view she appeared to be a great ship, carrying 
many pieces of cannon, and flying the English flag. 
The morning sun fell upon her, and disclosed her deck 
covered with men whose armor and weapons sparkled 
in the light. 

It was abundantly evident that she was a ship-of- 
war of the English, and well prepared in every respect 
to attack and overwhelm us. Both as regarded her 
ordnance and the numbers of her crew, that she was 
vastly superior to us was also plain. Should she get 
the range of us I made no doubt that we should be 
quickly knocked to pieces. 

On the high seas, a galley like The Cross of Blood 
could not be opposed to such a ship except with the 
one result, and that the worse. Our case was little 
short of desperate, but I did not lose heart. 

Nor did my mistress give up hope. She and I held 
a hurried consultation with Calvagh O’Halloran, hav- 
ing determined that we should first try to escape by 
rowing. There was the land before us, and a rocky 
cape jutting from it held out as it were a friendly 
beckoning hand. 

Once we had made it, and were safely round it, we 
would be in a shallow bay, into which flowed a river — 
up which the galley might go, but not so large a' ship 
as the Englishman. We therefore bent our whole 
energies to this end, but all in vain. It became 
apparent before we were half-way to the shore that 


2o6 grace O’MALLEY 

we were completely outsailed, and were at the mercy 
of the enemy. 

When I had fully grasped the extreme peril in which 
we were, and reflected that my whole world was on 
board this galley, to say nothing of the fact that every 
timber of it was dear to me, my heart well-nigh fainted 
within me. Here was that great woman whom I 
served ; here also the woman whom I loved. 

Was it to this destiny they had been born ? Not- 
withstanding our danger, I could not believe it. 

What was the worst that the spite of fortune could 
wreak upon us ? 

Either The Cross of Blood would be sunk by the 
enemy’s fire, and we would perish in the sea, or she 
would be captured, many of us being killed in the 
struggle, and the rest taken — what would be their 
fate ? 

But there was no need to ask that ; for I was well 
assured that the people of the English ship knew who' 
we were, or, at least, whose galley it was, for who in 
Ireland had such a vessel as The Cross of Blood, except 
Grace O’Malley? 

Such were my thoughts when my mistress spoke 
in my ear, and said that as it was impossible to escape 
from the Englishman we must fight him. 

“ With all my heart,” cried I ; “ but how ? ” 

Then she told me what to do. 

I went forward to Calvagh, and bade him order his 
oarsmen to row with all their might until I gave a sig- 
nal ; when it was given they were to get their arms 
ready, but without making a noise or leaving their 
benches and having their oars resting on the water. 

The Cross of Blood raced on, but the English ship 


A DEAR VICTORY 


207 

went faster, until a shotted gun fired across our bows 
made us well aware of what we had known sufficiently 
already — that we must be sunk, or give ourselves up, 
or, at least, appear to do so. 

Calvagh looked at me, but I gave no sign ; Grace 
OMalley changed the galley’s course, so that we gained 
a little by it ; and on we plunged again, making for the 
open sea. But the advantage we had thus obtained 
was of no real value to us, and the Englishman, with his 
square bulging sails swelling in the breeze, was quickly 
at our heels. 

And now a second and, as it were, more peremptory 
message of iron bade us throw up the game and lie to. 
The great shot fell so close to the poop of the galley, 
and made so heavy a splash in the water, that the 
spray from it might almost have fallen on our deck but 
for the wind. I glanced at my mistress and she nodded. 

There was no purpose to be served in rowing any 
longer, for in another second we might be sent below 
the waves. Nor did we make any attempt to return 
the enemy’s fire, and so, perhaps, invite a broadside 
from him which would probably have settled our 
affairs forever. 

Calvagh’s eyes were fastened on me, and now I gave 
him the signal ; his voice roared hoarsely through the 
galley ; the oarsmen sat erect on their benches, and 
the rowing ceased. 

Something that was between a sob and a groan came 
from the lips of our men ; a sort of quiver passed over 
them, as each of them quietly got his sword or battle- 
ax from its place ; and then there was a silence, only 
broken by the waters as they lapped along our sides 
and swished under the blades of the oars. 


2o8 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


De Vilela, who had gone into his cabin to put on 
his armor as soon as the chase of us began, now ap- 
peared. Approaching my mistress and me, and in ac- 
cents tremulous as I had never before heard from him, 
he asked a question of Grace O’Malley. 

“ Senorita,” inquired he, ** tell me, you do not intend 
to give up the galley thus tamely to the English? 
Surely it were better to die.” 

“Better to die,” said she, “yes, by the Cross!” 
And then she rapidly spoke a few words, which I could 
see were not displeasing to him. And I like to recall 
the man, as he stood beside me that day ; clad in his 
suit of mail, with the crest of his house shining on his 
helmet, and with his naked sword drawn, its point 
resting on the deck of the poop ; his eyes bright and 
steadfast, while a smile was on his lips. And we 
looked towards the English ship, saw the scowling 
faces of our foes hanging over her bows, and waited on 
the will of the God of Battles. 

Grace O’Malley in the meantime went down to her 
cabin to speak words of hope and comfort to Eva. 
When I thought of my dear, my heart again fainted 
within me ; then it seemed to grow so big and strong, 
calling, as it were, loudly to me to play the man this 
day, that I felt that there was nothing that was wholly 
impossible to me ! 

My mistress now returned to the poop-deck, and 
taking the helm from the steersman, as we stood close 
in by the enemy’s vessel, she put it down sharply, so 
that the galley was thrown into the fire-chains of the 
Englishman. 

“ O’Malley ! O’Malley ! O’Malley ! ” I cried, and 
quicker than a flash, before the English had got over 


A DEAR VICTORY 


209 


the suddenness of the movement, our men, with De 
Vilela and myself at their head, had leaped on board 
of her. 

With thrust of sword and blow of battle-ax we made 
good our footing on the deck, and for a space the Eng- 
lish fell back before us. Their captain, a towering figure 
in armor, save for his head, on which was a broad cap 
with a dancing plume of feathers in it, rallied them, 
and led them on at us, shouting for St. George and 
England. 

They were more in number than ourselves, but de- 
spair nerved our arms, so that we withstood them, 
albeit we were hard pressed, and the fighting was ter- 
rible beyond all words. I sought to engage the captain, 
but De Vilela was before me. 

Then there occurred an unexpected and almost un- 
heard-of and incredible thing. 

I knew the voice at once, and, turning in the direc- 
tion from whence it came, and thus being partly off 
my guard, could not altogether ward off the dart of a 
sword, so that I was wounded in the throat, and, had 
it been but a little truer, would have been slain. 

Above the clang of meeting weapons and the rattle 
of armor and the shouts and sobs and the catching for 
breath of the foemen, the voice of my mistress was 
heard crying in the tongue of the Irish : 

“ Let the O’Malleys divide, and stand on each side 
of the ship ! ” 

It was a difficult matter in itself to accomplish, and 
some there were of the Irish who were unable to do 
so ; but such of us who could obeyed her command 
without pausing to try to understand what she would 
be at. 


210 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


Then there came forth a great tongue of fire, a blind- 
ing cloud of smoke, and so tremendous a report that 
the ship was shaken from stem to stern. 

And this is what had taken place : 

When we had sprung on board of the English ship, 
Grace O’Malley was left standing at the helm of The 
Cross of Blood, She had watched the contest, and, 
fearing that we were overmatched, had cast about for 
some means of assisting us. Then, taking with her a 
few of the men whom she had kept in the galley for 
her own guard, she had climbed up into the forecastle 
of the enemy, and, as their attention was entirely oc- 
cupied with us, had, unperceived by them or seen too 
late, run on board one of the Englishman’s bow-chasers, 
and had turned it on its owners. 

The piece, thus leveled at this terrible short range, 
swept the deck of its defenders, and among the heaps 
of the slain and the wounded were several of our own 
people who had not been able to gain the bulwarks. 

I was myself leaning against one of the ship’s 
beams breathing hard, and clutching with the fingers 
of my left hand my bleeding throat, while my right 
still grasped my sword. So dreadful was the sight 
of the deck that now met my eyes that I could not 
help closing them, while a shudder shook my whole 
frame. 

But our work was not yet done. For when we es- 
sayed to carry the poop we were beaten back in spite 
of all our endeavors, and what might have been the 
end I know not if Grace O’Malley had not held pos- 
session of that piece of ordnance. A second and third 
discharge from it shattered and destroyed the poop, 
and at length the ship was ours, its whole crew being 


A DEAR VICTORY 


2II 


killed or captured or drowned, for many of the English 
jumped into the sea and perished. 

Having collected her men together, and along with 
them having brought away the prisoners and what 
treasure was found on board of The Star of the Sea^ 
which was the name of the ship, she ordered it to be 
scuttled, and then withdrew to the galley. 

But when we came to count up what this battle had 
cost us, our loss was so great that my mistress deemed 
it expedient to go on no further with her journey at 
that time, and thus we returned again to Clew Bay, 
having been absent but a few days. And there was 
much mourning among us, for many of our people had 
been slain. De Vilela, however, had come unscathed 
from the fray, and my own wound was, after all, not 
much more than a scratch. 

But the uncertainty of the issue of our whole conflict 
with the English had been brought home to me in so 
decided a manner that for the first time I realized how 
dark and menacing was the path that lay before our 
feet. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


AT ASKEATON 

I WAS never one to whom it is easy to sit still with 
folded hands, still less the man to muse darkly for long 
over the chances and mischances of war. Mine cer- 
tainly was it not to consider and to see the end of a 
thing even from its beginning ; the hour and its work 
were enough for me. Scarcely, then, were we come 
back but I burned to be again on the water with the 
deck of The Cross of Blood beneath my feet, and re- 
joice did I exceedingly when my mistress told me what 
her purpose now was, and bade me get the three galleys 
ready for sea. 

She was resolved to put her whole fortune on the 
hazard, and to employ her entire strength in the strug- 
gle, and, at the same time, to get what aid she could 
from others. 

Thus, undeterred by our encounter with the English 
ship-of-war — from which we had so hardly emerged — 
nay, rather made the more determined by it, she had 
sent messengers, fleet of foot and strong, to Richard 
Burke, the very day we had arrived at Carrickahooley, 
inviting him to come to her with his best and his 
bravest, and, if he would serve her, as he had professed 
himself ready, to tarry not by the way. 

I was in nowise in doubt as to what the answer of 
212 


AT ASKEATON 


213 

the MacWilliam would be. Not only was he com- 
mitted as much as we ourselves to the contest against 
the Governor, but he had promised to support Grace 
O’Malley in any manner she might desire ; nor could I 
imagine anything that would give him a keener pleas- 
ure than to comply with her request. 

Two or three weeks passed, however, before he ap- 
peared at the castle, but when he did come it was at 
the head of a picked company of his gallowglasses, two 
hundred strong. 

In the battles and fights of the previous year our 
force had been reduced by perhaps a third, and our 
numbers had been still further lessened in the bloody 
engagement with The Star of the Sea. Welcome, then, 
were these stalwart Burkes of Mayo. True, they were 
unused to the sea, but it was my mistress’s intention 
that we should all land, and hold ourselves at the dis- 
posal of the Earl of Desmond. 

If need be,” said she, discussing her plans with 
Richard Burke and me, “ I will burn the galleys be- 
hind me.” 

Whether I fought on the sea or on shore was a mat- 
ter of indifference to me ; but I could not hear her say 
this without a pang, although I recognized to the full 
the spirit which inspired the words. 

“ There will be no necessity for that,” said De Vilela, 
who was present, smiling, “ for the ships of my master, 
the King of Spain, will sweep the sea clear of the Eng- 
lish.” 

It was the month of May, and the earth was array- 
ing herself once again in her garments of green, 
when we weighed out from the harbor of Clare 
Island. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


214 

At first, the weather being unsettled, we made but 
slow progress; however, on the night of the second day of 
our voyage a fair wind sprung up, and on the fourth day 
we were in the Shannon, going up with the tide, under 
a blue sky warm with the promise of summer. Casting 
anchor between the Island of Aughinish and the main- 
land for the night, I went ashore to see if I could hear 
any tidings of Desmond, or if anything was known of 
the expected ships from Spain. 

The sight of the three galleys had drawn a number 
of the peasants to the bank of the river, and, when I 
had dispelled their fears of us, I found that they were 
willing enough to talk. Howbeit, they could tell us 
nothing of Desmond, nor had they any word of the 
Spanish ships. 

When I had repeated this to my mistress on my 
return, she asked me to go next day to Askeaton, and to 
inform the Earl, if he were there at his fortress, that 
she was on her way to him, but if he were absent to 
ascertain where he was. Accordingly I proceeded in 
The Cross of Blood to the bay into which flows the 
stream on which the castle stands, and arrived at my 
destination. 

As I was already well known at Askeaton I was 
admitted within the gate without demur, and almost 
the first man I met was Fitzgerald, who greeted me 
with much warmth. But I had not conversed with 
him long before I perceived that he did not seem to 
be in his accustomed spirits, and when I told him that 
my mistress, Eva O'Malley, Richard Burke, and De 
Vilela were no great distance away, he appeared to be 
somewhat distressed. 

“Is Garrett Desmond here?” I asked, and the usu- 


AT ASKEATON 215 

^ally frank expression of his face was instantly clouded 
over. 

“ He is expected back at the castle to-morrow,” he 
replied. Then as I looked hard at him, waiting to hear 
more, he broke out : 

“ Desmond went to Limerick yesterday in attend- 
ance on the President of Munster.” 

“ The President of Munster ! ” I exclaimed. Then 
I stopped in the courtyard, put my hand on his arm, 
and gazing earnestly at him, asked, “ What is the mean- 
ing of this ? ” 

The President of Munster was the English Governor 
of all this part of Ireland, and I could not but think 
this was a strange piece of news. That he and the 
Earl of Desmond should be together, evidently on 
terms of friendship, boded no good to Grace O’Malley, 
or to myself, or to our cause. 

“ O,” said Fitzgerald, testily, “ the explanation is 
simple. The country is excited over the prospect of 
the coming of ships from Spain, and the President rode 
over from Limerick to Askeaton to see Desmond — • 
ostensibly on a visit merely of courtesy, but in reality 
to spy out what was going on here. I would not have 
suffered him to enter the castle had I been Desmond, 
but Desmond thought otherwise, saying the time was 
not yet ripe.” 

This was plausible, but did not account, I thought, 
for the moody looks of Fitzgerald. There was some- 
thing behind all this, but I did not press him further, 
save to inquire : 

“ What is to prevent the President from seizing Des- 
mond, and thrusting him into prison at Limerick? ” 

“ He has a strong guard,” said he, “and the Presi- 


2i6 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


dent has very few soldiers in Limerick. Besides, he 
feels confident that Desmond will be true to the 
English.” 

“ Has Desmond given him any pledge of good 
faith ? ” 

“ No. He places his trust in Desmond too fully for 
that.” 

When I thought over what I had been told, it seemed 
probable enough that the Earl concealed his real in- 
tentions under the mask of a pretended loyalty to the 
Queen, and would do so perhaps until the time, as he 
said, was ripe. Yet the uneasiness I always felt with 
respect to him increased in spite of this supposition. 

Then it occurred to me that perchance Fitzgerald, 
now that he had had time to become better acquainted 
with his cousin, was not more satisfied with him than 
I, and that this was the reason for his change of aspect. 

However, when I met the Earl next morning, my 
suspicions and fears melted away before the cordiality 
with which he received me. And when I told him 
that my mistress was in the vicinity, he declared that 
there was nothing he desired more in all the world 
than to see her. 

“ The President of Munster,” said he, “ has just gone 
back to Limerick from here, and for a time at least we 
will be free from his spying on us. Nothing could 
have fallen out better,” he continued, rubbing his hands 
together like one who was greatly pleased, “ so tell 
your mistress to make haste and come.” 

Likewise his Countess, who was with him, bade me 
say to Grace O’Malley that she was welcome to Askea- 
ton. 

When I returned to my mistress, I repeated to her 


AT ASKEATON 


217 

the messages ; but I thought it right to tell her also 
that Desmond had been entertaining the President of 
Munster. As I dwelt upon this matter, and remem- 
bered Fitzgerald’s manner, something seemed to knock 
at my heart, and my suspicions sprang up anew. 

“ He finds it needful,” said Grace O’Malley, think- 
ing of Desmond, “ to wear a double face as affairs 
stand at present, but when the Spaniards arrive he will 
come forward without disguise as our leader.” 

And, in truth, when we were come to Askeaton both 
the Earl and his Countess made so much of my mis- 
tress that I felt a sort of shame that I had ever had 
any distrust of him. 

Great entertainments were given in her honor, all 
the noblemen and gentlemen of Desmond’s household 
vying with each other in paying her court, while the 
Earl himself seemed never to be able to see enough of 
her. Indeed, he showed her so much attention that it 
soon became apparent that she occupied a large part in 
his thoughts — so much was this the case that Richard 
Burke grew very jealous of him, nor did the Countess 
of Desmond regard the matter without displeasure. 

Meanwhile the tim^ was slipping by. Our galleys 
lay in the stream, and though I visited them frequently 
to make sure that they were safe, I could not but be 
aware that it was no good thing that they should be 
there, tied up in the Shannon, within easy reach of 
any English man-of-war that might ascend the river. 

They were concealed, however, from view ; but 
there was ever the fear in my mind that a rumor of 
our being at Askeaton would be bruited abroad, and 
come to the ears of the English. All the Burkes, and 
a considerable portion of our own O’Malleys, had been 


2i8 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


withdrawn from our vessels, and the force left upon 
them could scarcely be reckoned as formidable. 

Another ^ cause for uneasiness was that nothing 
more was heard of the landing of the Spaniards. I 
had many conversations with De Vilela, who was 
certain of their coming, but who knew the time of it 
no more than myself. He did not exhibit the im- 
patience which possessed me, but in his heart I doubt 
not he longed for action as ardently as did I. 

Of Fitzgerald I saw very little, for two days after 
the arrival of my mistress at Askeaton he rode over 
to Limerick, and there remained. 

When I spoke of him to De Vilela, he said he had 
heard that Fitzgerald was madly in love with a lady 
who was staying in that city, and that that probably 
accounted for his being there. Knowing what Fitz- 
gerald’s disposition was, I could not forbear smiling 
and now fancied that I had discovered the cause of 
his want of spirits in that he had not been very suc- 
cessful in his wooing. 

I thought no more of him or of his affairs, little 
dreaming who the lady was, until the mention of her 
name one day filled me with lively feelings of aston- 
ishment and vexation, and I pondered this new and 
perplexing turn of events, with something close akin 
to terror. 

It so happened that I was talking and jesting with 
one of the Geraldines, when the conversation came 
round to Sir Nicholas Malby, and the iron rule he had 
imposed on Galway and a large part of Connaught. 

“Grace O’Malley,” said he, “was more than a 
match for him.” 

“ Sir Nicholas,” said I, “ is the best soldier the Eng- 


AT ASKEATON 


219 

lish have in Ireland, and if he did not prevail against 
my mistress, it was rather because he underrated her 
strength and her prowess, than from any other cause. 
He esteemed her as no more than a feeble woman, 
and so was deceived.” 

“ By the way,” asked he, “ are you well acquainted 
with Galway ? ” 

“Yes — well enough,” replied I, somewhat crisply. 

“ And do you know the Mayor of the town, one 
Stephen Lynch ? ” 

“Yes,” I assented, wondering. 

“A great merchant?” he inquired. 

“ The richest in Galway, perhaps in Ireland,” I an- 
swered. 

“ With a daughter, an only child, who will inherit his 
whole wealth ? ” 

“Yes,” said I, wondering still more. 

“ Mistress Sabina Lynch ? ” 

“ The same,” said I ; “ but why do you ask these ques- 
tions ? ” 

“ The woman is beautiful, is she not ? ” he went on, 
without replying immediately to my query. 

“ No doubt of that,” I replied. 

“ Rich and beautiful ! ” he exclaimed, and then he 
laughed very merrily. 

“Tell me,” said I again, “ why have you sought to 
know all this ? ” 

“ Ask Dermot Fitzgerald,” said he, and would say 
no more, but I understood — all. 

Dermot Fitzgerald was in love with Sal)ina Lynch ! 
And she was in Limerick, where were the President of 
Munster and his soldiers, and Fitzgerald too ! Here, in- 
deed, was a pretty heap of fagots, and it was my hand. 


220 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


as it were, that might have placed the fuel beneath, 
and set it in a blaze ! 

I saw at a glance how easy it would be for Fitzgerald, 
without intending inany way to do mischief or to betray 
us to the English, to let drop a word or a hint that 
might suggest to a quick-witted woman to inquire fur- 
ther into his meaning, and that so dextrously as not 
to excite in the least any alarm on his part. 

And what might not be looked for when she learned 
that Grace O’Malley, the woman she hated most, and 
Richard Burke, the man she loved best, were together 
at Askeaton ? And Fitzgerald was said to be madly in 
love with her! He would therefore be as wax in her 
hands, and she would mold him to her will as she 
pleased. Small wonder, then, that I was disturbed, and 
felt that we were far from secure. 

And now there fell out what, at the time, gave me 
the keenest regret and even pain, though afterwards 
it proved to be of the most inestimable service to us. 

It had become very plain to any one who gave it the 
slightest thought, or, indeed, to any one who used his 
eyes, that Desmond was infatuated with my mistress. 
Every moment that he could find was spent in her 
societ}^ to the neglect of other matters, however im- 
portant they were. Before he had seen her he had 
been fascinated by what I had told him of her and her 
deeds ; now that he saw her for himself, and marked how 
like a queen she was, he was as one bound hand and 
foot before her. 

Grace O’Malley had a great power over men when 
she chose to exercise it ; and now, on her side, she ap- 
peared not only to encourage him, but also to be bent 
upon his complete subjugation. 


AT ASKEATON 


221 


I marveled at her, yet assured myself that she could 
have no love for the man, but that, perceiving the 
weakness of his character, she took this course in order 
to make certain of his firm adhesion to our cause. For 
the strength of the passion of a man, even of a weak 
man, is no more to be reckoned up and measured than 
is the force of a mighty tempest, beginning in a breath 
and dying out in ruin. 

Desmond’s countess grew pale and silent, and I noted 
that the furtive glances she stole at my mistress were 
touched at first with dismay, then with anger. She 
must have known the kind of stuff of which her huaband 
was made, but her rage, as might be seen, was directed 
wholly at my mistress. I felt a sort of compunction, 
and sometimes wished that we had never come to 
Askeaton at all. 

And this wish was made much stronger, for Richard 
Burke, who bore and endured for awhile the utmost 
torture when he saw how matters stood between Grace 
O’Malley and the Earl, told me that he could suffer to 
see it nolonger, and so was determined to speak to 
her and remonstrate with her. 

What passed between them I do not know, but it 
was of such a nature that the MacWilliam shortly 
afterwards withdrew in high dudgeon from the castle 
with all his men. 

I attempted to restrain him from going, but in 
vain. He admitted that he had received no promise 
from Grace O’Malley of her hand, but as she had 
not repulsed him utterly when he had preferred his 
suit to her, and had come to Kerry at her request, 
he had hoped that the matter was in a fair way to 
be settled as he desired. Now, he said, she had no 


222 GRACE O’MALLEY 

thought of him, her whole mind being taken up with 
Desmond. 

I endeavored to gainsay this, but without success, 
and I had sorrowfully to witness the departure of the 
Burkes from Askeaton. I so far prevailed upon him, 
however, that he agreed to stay in the district, and, 
having obtained permission from the Earl, he pitched 
his camp a few miles away in the woods. 

Richard Burke’s troubles made me think of my own 
love affairs, which were in the same position as before, 
for albeit, I had a secret, satisfying conviction that 
Eva O’Malley had no special regard for De Vilela, I still 
adhered to my resolution not even to appear to come 
between them. Wherein, perhaps, in my stupid pride, 
I did my dear, to say nothing of myself, a great in- 
justice, for she might have supposed that I cared for 
nothing but the fierce, mad joy of battle. But never 
loved I any one save her alone. 

It was on the second or third day after Richard 
Burke had left us that the arrival of the messengers from 
the President of Munster with a letter for Desmond 
threw me into a state of great concern. And when I 
knew what the tenor of that letter was, I was disquieted 
the more, for I could but conclude that what I had 
dreaded would happen with respect to the intimacy of 
Sabina Lynch and Fitzgerald had indeed come to pass. 

The Earl received the President’s me.ssengers with 
some state, several of his gentlemen and myself being 
with him. 

As he read the letter they presented to him, he was 
evidently disconcerted by its contents, looking now 
at it, now at the messengers ; but when he had perused 
it a second time, he laughed strangely, and said he 


AT ASKEATON 223 

would give no answer at once, but would consider what 
was to be done. 

In the evening, when we were all together in the 
great hall of the castle, my mistress also being of the 
company, he was in a boisterous humor, and bade his 
harpers sing of the glories of the house of Desmond. 
He sat beside Grace O’Malley, and I saw him, under 
cover of the music, speaking to her very earnestly ; 
and presently he called me up to them. 

“ What think you, Ruari ? ” said my mistress, and 
her eyes laughed, “ what think you, does the President 
of Munster ask from the Earl of Desmond?” 

“ What is his demand ? ” cried I. 

“ Nothing less or more,” said she, and the laughter 
suddenly went out of her faee, “ than that he should 
instantly deliver up a certain Grace O’Malley, as a 
notable traitress to the Queen and a spoiler of ships, 
at present lodged in his castle of Askeaton, and should 
forthwith cause her to be conveyed to him at the city 
of Limerick, to be there dealt with according to her 
deserts and the pleasure of her Highness. What think 
ye of that ? ” 

“ What says the Earl of Desmond ? ” cried I. 

“What, indeed!” said she, answering for him, and 
turning to him with a smile. 

“ Aye — what, indeed ! ” said he, meeting her look, 
and smiling back at her. 

At that instant there was a commotion at the 
further end of the hall, and there entered a man, with 
his garments stained with travel and befouled with 
mire. 

As soon as De Vilela saw him he sprang forward 
with a great cry of delight, and, careless of us all, em- 


224 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


braced him, while a sort of silence came upon us, and 
the bards ceased their singing ; but the whisper soon 
and quickly ran among us that the Spaniards at last 
were come. 


CHAPTER XIX 


I 

i 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 

It was a strange moment. 

There were the representatives of the President of 
Munster, two of the justices from Limerick — these 
stood for the Queen. 

There were Grace O’Malley, her gentlemen, and my- 
self — proclaimed rebels. 

There were Desmond and his Geraldines. 

And now here were De Vilela and this stranger 
from Spain ! And we were all met together in the 
great hall of the castle of Askeaton. 

A strange moment, and a strange meeting! 

De Vilela advanced towards Desmond, and, with 
that grace of manner which this man possessed in 
greater perfection than any other I have ever seen, 
presented the newcomer to the Earl. I leaned forward 
to catch the name. It was the family name of the 
famous Lieutenant of Santo Cruz, the still more cele- 
brated Grand Admiral of Spain. A brother ora cousin 
of Martinez, I said to myself, as the two men bowed 
low before Desmond. 

“Will your lordship permit?” said De Vilela. 
“ Don Juan de Ricaldo, my friend and comrade !” 

And the Earl extended his hand to Don Juan. 

“ You are welcome, Seftor,” said Desmond, but with- 
15 22c, 


L 


226 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


out much warmth, for was he not, as it were, between 
the devil and the deep sea, with England on the one 
side and Spain on the other? 

Then he conversed with the two Spaniards in a low 
tone of voice so that I could hear but imperfectly 
what was said, but it was impossible not to see that 
he was in great perplexity. The two messengers of 
the President looked darkly on, their countenances 
knit into scowls, while Desmond shot a curious glance 
at them now and again. 

After a few minutes spent in this fashion, Don Juan, 
excusing himself on the score of being weary in the 
extreme from his journey, retired from the hall along 
with De Vilela. When they had withdrawn there was 
a constraint upon us all, no one caring to speak his 
thoughts, for what could we say that would not have 
been noted by those two sharp-eared gentlemen from 
Limerick ? 

For myself I was fair bewildered ; but the one 
thing that bulked out most largely in my mind was the 
fact that now there must be an end of our uncer- 
tainty, as the Spaniards had come into the country, as 
I supposed, and the time for deeds, not words, was 
upon us. 

Nor was our sitting in the hall prolonged that eve- 
ning, for each one who was in authority preferred to 
say nothing, and while the others talked together in 
little knots, it was in whispers, and all were glad when 
the Earl gave the signal for retiring. 

The same night I was awoke from a sound sleep 
by De Vilela, who bade me dress and go with him. We 
went into a room high up in the tower, and there were 
my mistress, Desmond, and De Ricaldo waiting for us. 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 22/ 

“ Ruari,” said Grace O’Malley, her face bright with 
excitement, “ this gentleman is Don Juan de Ricaldo ” 
— we saluted each other — “ and he is the bearer of 
news of the highest importance, and that concerns us 
most nearly.” 

Don Juan bowed again. 

“ The ships of the King of Spain have arrived ? ” I 
asked, as my mistress paused. 

“ One ship has come,” said she, “ that of which Don 
Juan is the commander, and others are on the way. 
They set out at the same time, but a storm separated 
them ; he has reached Ireland first, but the rest cannot 
be far off.’^ 

“ ’Tis the best of good news,” cried I. “ Would 
to God they were all beside our galleys on the Shan- 
non ! ” 

“ Don de Ricaldo’s ship lies off Dingle, on the coast 
of Kerry,” said my mistress, smiling at my sally, “and 
the others must be guided to the same harbor. They 
may have already cast anchor elsewhere, or they may 
still be at sea. But I wish you to take The Cross of 
Blood and search for them. Both of these gentlemen,” 
she nodded to the two Spaniards, “ will accompany 
you.” 

“ And then ? ” inquired I. 

“You will then render them,” said she, “ any help 
they may require, as, for instance, choosing the most 
suitable place for making a landing, or whatever it may 
be.” 

“ And then ?” asked I again. 

“ Return here,” said she. 

“ May I ask,” said I, “ if any plans have been 
formed.” 


228 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ They will depend,” said Desmond, quickly, “ on the 
number of the Spanish soldiers — and on other things,” 
he added, more slowly. 

“ You will go at once, Ruari ? ” asked Grace O’Malley, 
but her question was a command. 

“ At once,” I agreed ; then a thought came to me. 
“ Richard Burke should be told of this,” said I. 

“ All Ireland will have heard the news within a 
week,” said Desmond, impatiently, “ and the MacWil- 
liam among the rest.” 

This was true enough, but I made sure that he 
knew, for I sent a trusty man to his camp who told 
him what had taken place. I did this later that night. 

As I was taking my leave I asked my mistress if she 
was satisfied that all was going well, and she replied that 
she was. 

“You will stay on here till I return?” asked I. 

“ Surely ! ” It was Desmond who spoke. 

I had half a mind to suggest to her that it might be 
better for her to go back to her own galley, but it 
seemed like a presumption on my part, and I held my 
peace. 

But once we were on board The Cross of Blood, swing- 
ing down the stream in the hours of the morning, I 
wished that I had been bolder. 

Yet, what was there to fear? So I repeated to my- 
self, but the fear came again and again. For there 
were Grace O’Malley and Eva in Desmond’s power, 
the guard they had with them being of the slenderest 
now that Richard Burke was out of Askeaton with his 
gallowglasses, and I myself, with De Vilela and some of 
our choicest men, going further away with every mile. 

Was she justified in placing herself so entirely in the 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 229 

hands of the Earl ? There was the rub. My mistress, 
however, had declared that she was well pleased with 
the way in which our affairs were moving, and with that 
assurance I had perforce to be content. And I verily 
believe that she had no doubt but that she could do 
with Desmond as she chose. 

I had been ordered to keep a lookout for the Spanish 
ships, ajnd I put in at various bays and havens where 
I thought it might be possible that they had anchored, 
but I reached Dingle without having seen anything of 
them. And I well remember that it was towards eve- 
ning, after we had borne the blaze of the July sun all 
day, that we came up alongside of Don Juan de Ri- 
caldo’s vessel, and De Vilela and myself went on board 
of her with her captain. 

Next morning I put out to sea again, and, sailing 
slowly down the coast for perhaps a couple of hours, 
fell in with the rest of the Spanish ships, tacking to 
the northwestward. 

Having made signs that I wished to speak to them, 
they lay to. As I approached I saw a man waving his 
hand to me from the ship that was nearest us, and him 
I afterwards knew to be Sir James Fitzmaurice, a rela- 
tive of the Earl of Desmond, and with the reputation 
of being a skilful soldier. He had already fought 
against the English in Ireland, but had been beaten 
by them, and compelled to sue for peace. 

Beside him there stood three or four priests, and, 
a little way off, a group of men wearing armor, their 
swords shining brightly in their hands. Tffere was 
also a goodly muster of footmen, having arquebuses, 
spears and other weapons. And my heart warmed 
when I beheld this array. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


^30 

Quitting my galley, I went on board of the ship, and 
presently had told Fitzmaurice, who evidently was the 
leader of the expedition, who I was, and for what 
purpose I was come. I also delivered to him letters 
which De Vilela and De Ricaldo had given me for him. 
having read these over very carefully, he began to ply 
me eagerly with many questions. 

Was Desmond well ? What preparations had he 
made to rise against the English ? What was the 
-general state of the country? Did its princes and 
-chiefs know that he was coming, and were they ready 
to drive the English into the sea? Were the English 
in force, and where lay their army ? Who was there 
mow at Limerick ? 

All these and many other things did he inquire of 
me, listening to my replies with the closest attention, 
^comparing what I said with what was written in the 
letters I had brought, and making a commentary of 
his own. But I soon found out that he was in reality 
as well-informed as I was. 

Here was one, I said to myself, who was a very dif- 
ferent man from Desmond. The way he bore himself 
was so instinct with firmness, courage and resolution 
that he at once instilled a feeling of confidence in all 
who met him. Then the questions he had addressed 
to me impressed me as being just such questions as a 
soldier and a man of action would ask. But what 
.struck me most was that when he spoke of Desmond, 
while he said not a word in his dispraise, he was ap- 
parently not certain of him. And this was so much in 
my own manner of thinking of the Earl that my fear 
of him was intensified. 

It was now my turn to ask questions, and I inquired 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 23 1 

how many men Fitzmaurice had with him, and if these 
were all, or were we to look for more ? 

“There are four hundred of us — Spaniards, Italians,. 
Irish and English; these English,” he added, “are not 
of the Queen’s religion. And as to what we may ex- 
pect, Father Sanders will tell you more,” and he turned 
to one of the priests standing near. “ Father,” said 
he to the priest, “this is Ruari Macdonald, foster- 
brother of Grace O’Malley of Erris and the Isles of 
Connaught.” 

“ You have just come from Desmond,” said Sanders ; 
“ I have heard something of what you have been say- 
ing, and your mistress is with us.” 

“Yes,” I replied, “ Grace O’Malley is at Askeaton.”^ 

“ She is firm in the cause ? ” 

“She, and all of us, are proclaimed rebels,” cried I,, 
“so you may judge for yourself.” 

Then he exchanged glances with Fitzmaurice, and 
continued, “And Desmond? what of him ?” 

Thereupon I gave them an account of what had oc- 
curred at Askeaton since our arrival there. 

“ I do not see,” said Sanders, when I had done,“ how 
the Earl could have acted otherwise. As he said, he 
had to wait till the time was ripe. But now, the time 
is ripe, and the Desmond war-cry will soon resound on 
every side ! ” And the priest looked fixedly at Fitz- 
maurice, who, however, remained silent. 

Sanders then began speaking again, and told me how 
that the Pope had blessed the expedition, and had 
given both men and money, and would send more ere 
long. Next he took me to see a splendid banner, all 
blue and gold, with the figure of our Lord upon it, 
which he had received from Rome. 


232 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ This will march with our hosts/' cried he ** and 
lead us on to victory ! " 

Now, with the priests and the mysteries of religion 
I have never had much to do, and while the spirit of 
the man was in itself a beautiful thing, and the banner, 
too, a thing beautiful to behold, yet I could not for- 
bear from thinking that fighting men were what we 
most stood in need of, and that four hundred soldiers, 
however brave they were, even added to our own, were 
far from being sufficient to drive the English out of 
Ireland. For I knew the English by this time, and 
that they were no mean foes. 

And when I said what was in my mind to Fitz- 
maurice, who I was sure would agree with me, he re- 
plied that I must remember that the force he had with 
him was but, as it were, the advance guard of a great 
army, which, even at that very instant, might be al- 
ready on its way to our coasts. So I took fresh cour- 
age, and hoped for the best. 

After we had had a long conversation I said that my 
present business was to see his ships safe into the har- 
bor of Dingle, or into any other haven which might be 
selected in Kerry, and as De Ricaldo's vessel was not 
at Dingle I purposed, if it was agreeable to him, to go 
on ahead in my galley and show him the way, as it 
were, to the place. To this he assented, and I went 
back to T/ie Cross of Blood, We made Dingle soon 
thereafter, and I could see that Fitzmaurice and San- 
ders immediately got ready to land. 

There had already gathered upon the shore a crowd 
of the Irish belonging to that part of Kerry. Partly, 
I imagine, to impress them, and partly because of the 
nature of the occasion itself, Fitzmaurice and Sanders 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 233 


had deemed that their landing afforded a fit opportu- 
nity for no little display. They had therefore arranged 
a sort of procession, and I watched it, as it moved 
along, with keen interest ; nor was I cold and stolid 
myself at the sight of the joy of the country people 
who received it on shore with loud shoutings and a 
tumult of cheers. 

Two friars, chanting a psalm, stepped first on shore ; 
behind them came a bishop, clad in the robes of his 
sacred office, with a miter on his head and a pastoral 
staff in his left hand. His right hand was raised sol- 
emnly invoking a blessing on the land, and his lips 
moved as if in prayer, while the Irish knelt upon the 
shore as his feet touched the ground. 

Then came Father Sanders, the banner which the 
Pope had consecrated waving above him, and, imme- 
diately after him, Fitzmaurice and those of knightly 
rank — gallant, mailed, long-sworded gentlemen every 
one ! And now the foot-soldiers, each in a company 
under its own captain, streamed from the ships — mak- 
ing all together a brave show. 

As soon as a camping place for the night had been 
chosen, Fitzmaurice appeared at the side of my galley, 
and, having come on board, said that the harbor of 
Dingle from its shape — the mouth of the bay being 
narrow — was one from which it would be difficult to 
escape in an extremity, and asked me to suggest an- 
other. 

Whereupon I replied that the haven of Smerwick 
four miles to the north across the tongue of land where 
we now were, would be more to his mind. And thither 
the next day, Fitzmaurice marched his troops ; the 
ships were brought round, and, all his stores having 


234 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


been fetched ashore, he at once set his men to work, 
making a trench and fortifying the place. 

As I had now accomplished the mission my mistress 
had entrusted me with, I set about preparing to return 
to Askeaton. But Fitzmaurice prevailed upon me to 
stay two or three days longer, telling me he had sent 
horsemen to Desmond with a letter, in which he had 
urged his kinsman to declare war against the Queen 
without delay, and saying the reply might be of such 
a character as to change my plans. He hoped the 
answer would be speedy, and in any case, he said, it 
was well that I should know exactly what the Earl 
wrote. 

But several days passed, and still no word came from 
Desmond. 

In the meantime. Sir John, a brother of the Earl, 
arrived at Smerwick. This man, with whom a hatred 
of the English was the chief passion of his life, greatly 
lamented the supineness of his brother, but he had no 
knowledge of the Earl’s movements. There was no 
mistaking that Sir John was sincere, and when he 
asked Fitzmaurice, De Vilela, and myself to accom- 
pany him on his return to his castle of Tralee, 
where he said, our reception would give full proof 
of his devotion to the cause, I for one gladly as- 
sented. 

We took with us a considerable number of men, so 
as to guard against a surprise, but we reached Tralee 
without adventure of any sort. 

Before we had gained the castle itself, however, we 
were met by one of Sir John’s gallowglasses, who 
warned him that two officers of the English had ar- 
rived there that very day, and that, as one of them was 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 235 

well known to Sir John, they had been allowed to 
enter within its walls without question. 

Hastily calling a halt, we consulted together what 
was the wisest course to pursue. Sir John was for our 
going on, but P'itzmaurice thought it would be more 
prudent for Sir John to ride forward with his own at- 
tendants, and then, when night had fallen, we might 
secretly enter the castle. 

“ Who are the Englishmen? ” asked I, thinking that 
they might be known to me. 

“ One is Carter, the Marshal of Munster,” replied 
Sir John, “and the other is Davell, a captain in the 
garrison at Limerick.” 

I was acquainted with neither, but I remembered 
that I had heard of Davell, and what it was, and I 
looked steadily at Sir John. 

“ Sir John,” said I, “ the name of Davell is not un- 
familiar to me, and, if my memory serve me aright, you 
must know him well.” 

“ Yes,” said he shortly ; “he once stood between me 
and death in a former war. But what of that,” added 
he grimly, “ as things are now?” 

I held my peace, whereupon he exclaimed passion- 
ately : “ I will suffer nothing to stand between me and 
the deliverance of Ireland! Let us proceed.” 

Fitzmaurice, however, would not agree to this : so 
Sir John went on, as had been suggested, and we with- 
drew into the forest not far from the castle. But 
about midnight Sir John sent to say that the English- 
men had gone to bed, and that, as all was now quiet, 
he invited us to come. Nor did we refuse. 

When we had entered within the silent castle, Sir 
John met us, and led us, who were leaders, into the 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


236 

hall, but our men lay down in the courtyard. When 
wine and meat had been put before us, the waitingmen 
going about on tiptoe, Fitzmaurice inquired of Sir John 
if we might be told on what business it was that Carter 
and Davell had come to Tralee. 

“As spies. What else?” said Sir John. “The 
tidings of your landing have reached the ears of the 
President, and they have ventured hither for more 
news. They tell me they wish to see for themselves 
what is going on.” 

“ What say they of Desmond ? ” I asked. 

“ They say — what I cannot believe,” cried he, for- 
getting to whisper, as we had been doing ; “they say 
that Desmond himself sent a letter to the President — 
a letter he had received from you,” and here he 
glanced at Fitzmaurice — “ and that he has offered to 
drive the Spaniards back to their ships.” 

We were all silent. As for me, my mind was as a 
blank, while my heart beat so furiously that it was 
like to rend my body. 

“ I will never believe it,” said Sir John. “ ’Tis 
nothing but a base lie ! ” 

In the anguish of my spirit I groaned aloud, so that 
the rest looked curiously at me. 

“You believe it ! ” slowdy said Fitzmaurice; “and, 
by the Mass ! so do I.” 

“No, no !” exclaimed Sir John. “Not that — not 
that ! ” 

Then he sprang from his place, and, even in the dim 
light of the candles, I could not but see how ghastly 
was his face. 

“ Not that — not that ! ” he cried again, then with 
swift steps turned and left us. 


THE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS 237 

I heard the sound of his feet as he went up the stair 
to the sleeping-rooms above ; presently the noise 
ceased, but in another moment the stillness was rent 
by a piercing cry, quickly followed by another and an- 
other. 

We gazed at each other fearfully, asking mutely 
what this might portend, when Sir John returned to 
the hall, his mantle and his hands stained with blood. 

“ Let this,” cried he in wild accents, as he shivered 
as the blood dripped from him, “ let this be a pledge 
of the faithfulness of the Desmonds to you and to the 
cause ! ” 

“ What have you done? ” asked Fitzmaurice. 

“ There are no English spies alive now in Tralee,” 
said he more calmly, “ to carry tales to Limerick.” 

He had stabbed to death Carter and Davell, as they 
lay asleep, with his own dagger. 

And one of them had saved his life, and both had 
counted themselves his friends ! 

I felt myself growing sick with horror at the man 
and his deed. To slay men in the fight was one thing, 
but to kill sleeping men under one’s own roof was an- 
other and a very different thing. 

And with the horror there came a nameless fear. 


CHAPTER XX 


SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS 

Once the first shock of this terrible affair was 
over my thoughts were so many and withal so dreary, 
that it was impossible for me to get any sleep in 
the short hours which yet remained before the day 
dawned. 

I sought and found excuses for Sir John, but the 
excuses did not wholly satisfy me. For, if against 
this act of treachery of his, there might and could be 
set instances as base on the part of the English rulers 
of Ireland, that made it not the less foul. 

He no doubt justified himself in his own sight by 
believing he had committed his brother, the Earl, 
irrevocably to the cause, and that now all his hesita- 
tion must cease. But would it, I asked myself. 

Carter and Davell had declared that Desmond was 
in communication with the President of Munster ; no 
sooner had I heard this than I felt it must be true. 
So, too, had said Fitzmaurice. And if it were, in what 
position, then, was Grace O’Malley ? 

After all, was it true? 

Sir John had denied it; but had it not been the 
very fear that it was true, which had driven him as by 
a sort of frenzy into this dark and dreadful act of slay- 
ing his defenseless guests ? 

238 


SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS* 239 

And if Desmond were a traitor, where and in what 
case was my mistress ? 

And what of Eva? 

One thing was clear, and that was that Tralee was 
no place for me. I now regretted deeply that I had 
not returned to Askeaton at once after the harbor of 
Smerwick had been chosen by the Spaniards, and 
determined to get back to The Cross of Blood and to 
set out for the stronghold of Desmond immediately, 
for it was there that I should be. 

With the first blush of day I roused up my own 
men, and bade them be ready to march. As I was 
standing among them in the yard, both Fitzmaurice 
and De Vilela approached, and beckoned to me to 
join them. As I came up, a dozen horsemen or more 
swept past us, and fled across the bridge. 

There goes the rising of Munster,” cried Fitzmau- 
rice, joyfully, nodding towards the horsemen. “ They 
have been charged with messages to all the chiefs of 
the province, and before night has fallen the battle-cry 
of the Desmonds will have been sounded forth through- 
out the whole territories of the Geraldines.” 

“You have heard, then, from Desmond?/’ asked I, 
greatly relieved by his words. 

“ Not yet,” replied he ; “ but, after last night, 
Desmond can have no choice. Surely you must agree 
with me in that ? ” 

“ No,” said I, very slowly. “ I am not sure that I 
agree with you.” 

“ Which means you do not ! ” cried he, with anger 
in his tones. “ But why ? ” 

It was not easy to put what I thought into so many 
words, and I did not answer at once. 


240 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“Why? Why?” again asked Fitzmaurice. 

“ I can hardly tell you,” replied I ; “ but you heard, 
as well as I did, the report of his dealings with the 
President, and ’’—here I spoke not quite bluntly— “ I 
have no firm faith in Desmond.” 

“Perchance, he hesitated,” said Fitzmaurice, “per- 
haps he did at the beginning ; but all that will now be 
at an end. He must declare himself openly. His hand 
has been forced by Sir John, and he cannot stand out 
against us and his people.” 

“ What are your plans now ? ” I asked, rather weaii- 
ly, for I was tired of this incessant reference to Des- 
mond. 

“ To wait at Tralee till I hear from him,” said he. 
“ You will wait also ? ” 

“ No,” said I, “ 1 return to Smerwick to-day.” 

“ Return to Smerwick ? I shall not let you ! ” 

“ Indeed,” said I, with some heat. “You are not 
my commander, and I owe you no obedience. It is 
not yours to say what I shall do ; that is the right of 
my mistress alone.” 

“Your mistress ! ” said Fitzmaurice with a sneer. 

My hand went to my sword, but De Vilela, who had 
so far taken no part in the conversation, interfered. 

“ Sefior,” said he to Fitzmaurice, sternly, “ you can 
mean no disrespect to the lady Grace O’Malley ; she 
is my dear friend — ” 

“ Sefior,” said I, interrupting him, “ this affair is 
mine.” 

“ Sefior Ruari,” said he,/‘ had any offense been in- 
tended, it would have been mine, too.” 

Fitzmaurice, who quickly saw that he had made a 
mistake, declared that he had neither said nor implied 


SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS 24I 

anything to the despite of my mistress, but his look 
was sullen, and I wondered at him. 

It was apparent that he had something on his mind 
that was not favorable to her, but he said no more. 
It was possible that he had heard about her in con- 
nection with Desmond, so I concluded, and this urged 
me to the more haste in leaving Tralee. 

“ I am going to Smerwick at once,” said I to them 
both. 

Fitzmaurice was about to speak, but, changing his 
mind, walked away. De Vilela then asked me why I 
was in so great a hurry to be gone. 

“ My place is with my mistress,” said I, briefly, for 
I could not tell him my thoughts. 

“ That is a true word,” said he ; and there was a 
strange catch in his voice, so that I looked at him 
curiously, expecting him to say more, but he was silent. 

No objection being made to our departure, my men 
and I left Tralee, and, before night had set in we were 
at Smerwick. Having saluted the officers of the 
Spanish ships, and acquainted them with my intention, 
I weighed out from Smerwick the following morning, 
and on the third day came up with The Gray Wolf and 
The Winged Horse, which were quietly riding at anchor 
in the bay, not far from the castle of Askeaton. 

Many had been the questionings of my spirit as we 
had gone up the Shannon ; many my doubts and fears 
of I knew not quite what ; but the mere sight of the 
galleys, thus peacefully resting on the water like a pair 
of great sea-birds, dispelled them at once. 

Tibbot, who had been in chief command during the 
absence of Grace O’Malley and myself, came on board 
of The Cross of Blood as soon as we had let go our 
16 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


242 

anchor, and I could see from the very way he carried 
himself that all was well with the ships. He had noth- 
ing stirring to tell me, so it appeared, but was exceed- 
ingly anxious to hear about the men from Spain, and 
what was being done. 

But before I had gratified him in this respect, I in- 
quired when he had last seen or had word of our mis- 
tress, and he answered that she and the Earl of Des- 
mond and a numerous party had visited the galleys a 
day or two after I had sailed down the river ; and that, 
since then, he had had no tidings of her. Nothing, 
moreover, save vague rumors of Fitzmaurice and the 
Spaniards had reached him through the people living 
on the shore of the stream. 

So far as was known, Desmond still lay at Askeaton, 
and had not joined in the rising against the Queen. 

Tibbot seemed sure that everything and everybody 
remained at the castle in the same position as when I 
had left it ; but I resolved to go thither without loss 
of time, and to see for myself how the land lay. 

I charged Tibbot in the meantine not to allow our 
men to wander away, but to keep them, as far as possi- 
ble, in the galleys, and so to be prepared for any emer- 
gency. And I enjoined upon him he was not to offer 
attack, but only to stand on his defense in case of 
assault. 

Having spoken in the same terms to Calvagh, who 
was to act as Tibbot’s lieutenant, I took but one at- 
tendant, thinking that if more went with me I should 
not be able to get to Askeaton as quickly as I wished. 

It was not yet evening as I came in sight of Askeaton, 
and as I gazed down upon it from the high ground 
opposite, I noticed that there was nothing unusual in 


SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS 


243 


its appearance, except that the drawbridge was up, and 
that there were perhaps a few more soldiers on the 
walls than was customary. Descending the edge of 
the stream I shouted to the watch, peering at me 
through the wicket, to open the gate. I could not 
but have been well known to them, but I was kept 
waiting for some minutes — at which I marveled much. 
I had no thought, however, of turning back. 

At length, the chains of the drawbridge, as they 
clashed and clattered through the sheaves, began to 
move, and the bridge fell into place, the gate being 
opened at the same instant. 

What followed was so sudden that I have only a 
confused recollection of it. 

My feet had no more than trodden the creaking planks 
of the drawbridge, as it seemed to me, or I may have 
been just within the door, when I was set upon by 
several of Desmond’s men. 

I was taken completely off my guard, albeit I strug- 
gled with all my strength, but, being at a disadvantage, 
this availed me not a whit. In any case, I must soon 
have been overpowered ; but the matter was the quicker 
settled by a blow on my head, under which I went 
down like a felled ox. 

When I had come somewhat to my senses again, it 
was to find myself sick and giddy from the blow, while 
my hands and feet were tightly bound with ropes, so 
that my flesh was chafed and cut ; there had been a 
gag thrust into my mouth, and my eyes were bandaged. 
I could not speak, nor see, nor move. I could feel 
I was lying on the earth, but where I was I knew not. 

He is coming to himself,” said a voice. My brain 
was reeling, reeling, reeling; but there was that in 


244 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


the voice that seemed not strange, yet I could not re- 
member whose it was, so far off was it — as if from 
another world. 

“ Put him — ” and there were other words that came 
to me, but so indistinctly that I could not make them 
out at all ; nay, I could not tell, being in a stupor, 
whether I was awake or did only dream. 

Then I was taken up and carried along — up steps 
and steps which appeared to be without end, and, at 
last was thrown upon a wooden floor. A door was 
shut and bolted and barred ; and thereafter a sound of 
retreating footsteps dying away, and I was left alone. 
I was wide awake now, for my body was one great, 
almost insupportable pain. 

And terrible as was the anguish of my frame, that of 
my mind was more; but first came the racking of the 
bones and the torture of the flesh, and these, in their 
turn, brought consciousness and memory, and an in- 
describable agony of the soul. 

I tried to move — a thing well-nigh impossible to me, 
trussed up as I was and by reason also of the pain I 
suffered ; and I was constrained to abandon the at- 
tempt. I should have borne up better perhaps if my 
eyes had been open and my tongue free; but there I 
lay in the darkness, like one already dead, and had 
nearly given way to despair. 

And as the shadows and mists of stupor cleared 
away from my mind, I was overwhelmed at the extent 
of the disaster which had befallen me, for I saw in it 
but too surely an indication of some dreadful evil, 
some fearful calamity which had overtaken my mis- 
tress and her fortunes, and that, too, at the hands of 
Desmond. 


SUCH STUFF" AS DREAMS 245 

And I was powerless to help her ! I had allowed 
myself to be caught — running, blind fool that I was, 
my own head into the noose. 

Where was she ? 

Where was Eva ? 

What had happened ? 

What was to be the end ? Was this it ? 

Around such questions as these did my thoughts 
move, as if in a circle ; ever asking the same questions, 
and ever without reply ; until I felt that there was no 
more than the breadth of a thread between me and 
madness. 

After a great while — how long I wist not, and per- 
chance it was no such great while as it seemed to me 
in that wild fever of my spirit — the door of the room 
in which I lay huddled upon the floor was opened. I 
verily believe that it was the mere opening of the door 
at that very moment that kept me from becoming a 
maniac, so strained were those fine cords which subtly 
hold mind and body as if in a balance. 

The bandage was untied from about my eyes, and 
the gag was taken from my mouth ; the ropes were 
partly unloosened from my arms, and food and water 
were placed beside me. 

Two men were in the room, both bearing drawn 
swords, and one carrying a lantern, for it was night, 
and but for its light we had been in total darkness. 
Yet so sore were my eyes that I could scarcely bear to 
look at the men, and when I essayed to speak I could 
not utter a word so swollen was my tongue. 

Eat and drink,” said one of them ; but I could do 
no more than roll my head helplessly from side to 
side. 


GRACE O MALLEY 


246 

Then the other, seeing how foredone I was, put the 
pitcher to my lips, and I drank, although each mouth- 
ful I swallowed of the water was a fresh torment. But 
with the blessed water there came relief, nay, life itself, 
for the frenzy died out of my brain, and my mind became 
calm and clear. Thereafter I ate, and essayed to speak 
with the two men, but they had evidently been for- 
bidden to converse with me, for they would answer 
nothing. After a short time they withdrew, bolting 
and barring the door behind them, and I was left to 
myself. 

Hours dragged slowly by, and at length, the sleep of 
exhaustion fell upon me, and when I awoke it was 
broad daylight. The repose had restored me in a great 
measure to myself ; but the stinging of the cuts made 
by the bonds on my legs and arms, and the dull 
throbbing, throbbing, of my head, quickly recalled me 
to the miseries of my situation. 

In the morning, however, I was released from the 
ropes, and more food and water were brought me. 
Again I endeavored to get the men, who I preceived 
were the same who had come to me the previous eve- 
ning, to speak to me, but in vain. 

Before they had made their appearance I had seen 
that I had not been cast into one of the dungeons of 
Askeaton, but was imprisoned in a chamber which I 
judged, numbering the steps up which I had been 
borne, to be at the top of one of the towers of the 
castle. As soon as they had gone I set about examin- 
ing the room, albeit I was so stiff and sore that at first 
I could only crawl and creep on the floor. As this 
exercise, however, gave me back the use of my limbs, 
I was soon able to stand and move about with ease. 


SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS 247 

The room was small and bare, without even a stool 
or a bench, and was lighted by a little, narrow window, 
from which I caught glimpses of distant masses of trees 
and the slopes and peaks of far-off mountains. Dur- 
ing my first visit to Desmond, I had made myself 
familiar with every part of the castle, and I knew that 
the surmise I had made that the room was high up 
in a tower was a true one. 

There were only the two ways of getting out, the 
one by the door, the other by the window. The door 
was firmly secured, for I had tried it, but I might as 
well have sought to move the stone walls of the cham- 
ber. And the window was many feet above the ground 
or the river, so that it was impossible to escape by it, 
unless by means of a ladder or a rope, neither of which 
I possessed. 

It therefore required very little reflection on my 
part to understand how complete was my captivity, 
and how small was the chance of my being able to de- 
liver myself from it. 

But it was something that I could see, that I could 
breathe freely, and that I could speak aloud, and hear, 
at least, the sound of my own voice. And these some- 
how brought with them a faint ray of hope. As I 
paced up and down the room — that I was permitted 
to go without chains showed in itself how convinced 
my jailers were that I could not break free — I deter- 
mined not to despair. But as the day passed wretch- 
edly by, and night came on again, it was difficult to 
keep any degree of firmness in my heart. 

A thing which kept constantly recurring to me was 
the haunting recollection of the voice I had heard, or 
fancied that I had heard, after I had been struck down. 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


248 

and was half-alive and half-dead, and so certain of 
nothing. Then, knowing, as I well did, what was the 
usual horrible fate of one taken prisoner, I could not 
but ponder with surprise the comparative tenderness 
shown me. 

I had not been thrown into a noisome cell beneath 
the castle, or, what would have been worse still, under 
the bed of the stream, and left to die of madness and 
hunger, a prey to rats and other vermin. 

Nay, I asked myself why I had not been slain out- 
right ? That, it was manifest, had not been the pur- 
pose of those who had set upon me, for, once I was 
down, nothing could have been easier than to despatch 
me. 

Then, whose voice was it that I had heard ? For the 
life of me I could not remember. 

When evening was come, food and water were pro- 
vided as before, but in the same obduracy of silence. 
The men were as speechless as mutes, beyond one 
saying, “ Eat and drink,” and I was strangely glad and 
even moved to hear these simple words. 

Once more being left to the solitude of my prison- 
chamber, a thought came, sharply shooting like an ar- 
row, through my somber musings. The same two men 
always appeared with the food ; just two men, I told 
myself, against one. True, they were armed, and I 
was not ; but might not a quick, dexterous, unexpected 
assault give me my opportunity? And if I could get 
out of the room, could I not trust to my star, and to 
my knowledge of the castle, to find some way of es- 
cape? And if I failed? Well, the worst was death, 
and I had faced it before. And so the project grew, 
and took a firm hold of me. 


SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS 


249 


Not thus, however, had it been ordained. 

So agitated was I by the mere prospect of regain 
ing my liberty, that it was long ere I went to sleep, and 
then methought I dreamed a happy drearn. 

There was, as it were, a light in that mean room — 
not a great brightness, but a dimly burning light, itself 
a shadow among other shadows. And behind that 
shadow, a pale presence and a ghostly, stood Eva 
O’Malley, and by her side a muffled figure, vague and 
indistinct, but seen darkly as in a mirror over which the 
breath has passed. Clearer, and yet more clearly, there 
were bodied forth the face and form I knew and loved ; 
her hand touched me, and my name was whispered 
softly in my ear. 

Ruari ! Ruari ! ” 

I heard the rustle of her garments ; then the shadow 
danced along the wall and died away, as the light came 
closer to my face. 

“ Ruari ! Ruari ! ” 

“ O, my love ! my love ! ” cried I. 

“ Ruari ! Ruari ! Come ! ” said she. 

“ Hush ! Hush ! ” said the muffled figure, and all 
at once I was aware that this was no dream, but a 
verity. 

This was no other than my dear herself. 

And the muffled figure — who was that ? A man’s 
voice surely had I heard say “Hush!” And why 
were they come ? Wherefore, indeed, but to deliver 
me. And I sprang up from the floor in haste. 

“ Softly, softly,” said Eva, as I clasped her hand — a 
living hand, thank God ! 

Then she whispered low that for the present they 
must leave me, for if we all went together, the sus- 


250 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


picion of the guards might be aroused, but that I must 
find my way as best I could. Her words bewildered 
me, but there was no time for explanations, which 
would come afterwards. 

“ You must contrive to get down by yourself to the 
court,” said she. “ We will meet you there, but wait 
here first for about an hour, then start. You will find 
the door of this room open ; take the left turn, and 
make no noise or you will be lost.” 

I did as I had been bid. After what I supposed 
might be an hour I felt my way out of the room, and 
stepping slowly and with a cat’s wariness succeeded 
but with many quakings and alarms, in reaching the 
great hall without attracting the attention of any one. 
Never could I have done this had I not been familiar 
with the castle, and even as it was I had frequently to 
stop perplexed. 

In the hall were many men asleep, each with his 
weapon by him, as I could see, though uncertainly, 
from the dull glow of the embers in the wide hearth. 
Near the fire itself sat two men, and for awhile I looked 
at them fearfully, for past them must I go. But as I 
watched them carefully I saw their heads nodding, 
nodding — they, too, were asleep. 

Out through the slumberers did I step, praying 
dumbly that they might not waken through any slip 
of mine, and, reaching the door in safety, was, in an- 
other moment, in the court. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 

Ruari ! ” said Eva O’Malley ; “ here ! ” 

It was that darkest time of night that preludes the 
day, and I could see no one with any degree of clear- 
ness, but, guided by that beloved voice, I went for- 
ward, nothing doubting. 

Straining my eyes into the blank, I made out figures, 
moving towards the gate ; Eva came to my side, and 
we followed close upon them. Mystified as I was at 
what had just occurred, it gave me a delicious thrill 
of happiness to be near Eva, and to feel myself a free 
man again. 

“ Eva ! ” I said. 

“ Do not speak — do not speak,” said she, “ we are 
not yet out of danger.” 

In silence then we walked through the court until 
we had come to the guard-house by the gate, and there 
we halted. One of those with us went into the room, 
and I could hear, though indistinctly, the sounds of 
him and others talking together. 

Some long minutes passed, and the suspense was be- 
coming unendurable, when two men with lanterns ap- 
peared. Without looking at us they proceeded to 
lower the drawbridge, the rattling of whose chains was 
to me then the first music in the world, and to open 
the gate. 

251 


252 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


“ Quick, said Eva to me, pushing me gently on. 

I was over the bridge and on the other side in a 
flash along with two others ; turning back I heard an 
exclamation from the watchmen with the lanterns, and 
some expostulations. 

“ ’Twas not in the bargain,” I caught ; then there 
were more words which I heard too imperfectly to un- 
derstand, but I recognized from the mere tone of one 
of the voices who the speaker was. 

And with this there dawned on me also, whose was 
the voice I had heard after I had been struck down. 
It was Dermont Fitzgerald’s ! And he it was who was 
our guide ! ” 

In what way he satisfied the watchmen I do not 
know, but, having done so, he and Eva crossed the 
bridge. Then there was a whistle, and now a horse 
neighed ; and thereafter the trampling of chargers broke 
upon the ear. The horse-boys brought the animals up 
to us, and presently we were in the saddle, and moving 
off from the castle notwithstanding the gloom, Fitz- 
gerald leading the way. 

I wondered where we were going, but I had been 
told not to utter a word, in the one brief sentence I 
had exchanged with Eva when we were mounting the 
horses, and I followed on after her as I would have 
done to the end of the world, but I was fair dazed with 
these strange fantastic tricks of fortune. 

We had gone about a couple of leagues, as I con- 
jectured, from Askeaton, riding for the greater part 
of the distance through the forest, when Fitzgerald 
stopped — and so did we all. 

The darkness had grown perceptibly less intense, 
and we could now see a sort of path among the trees. 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 253 

“ I have done what I promised you,” said Fitz- 
gerald to Eva O’Malley. Then he turned towards 
me. “ Ruari Macdonald,” said he, “ my debts to 
you are also paid. Farewell, and God help and pity 
us all ! ” 

“ Dermot ! ” cried I. 

But he was already past me, galloping fast and furL 
ously, like one hotly pursued. 

“ He has gone,” said Eva, and there was a sob in 
her voice. 

In an instant I had leaped from the saddle, and was 
by her side. Her form was bowed forward upon her 
horse’s neck, and her tears were falling heavily, as I 
placed my arm about her waist, and drew her towards 
me, heedless of those who were with us. 

“ Eva, darling,” I said. “ What does all this mean ? ” 
Not that I cared to be told at that moment ; it was 
enough that we were together. I pressed her to my 
heart, and kissed away her tears while she struggled 
with her emotions. I spoke many words of endear- 
ment, and after awhile she regained her calmness. 

Let us ride on,” she said at length. 

“But whither are we going?” asked I. 

“To the camp of Richard Burke,” she replied; “ it 
is only three or four miles ahead of us — so Dermot 
Fitzgerald said. And he has shown himself our friend 
after all.” 

“To Richard Burke?” cried I, more amazed, if 
that were possible, even than before. 

“ Have patience, Ruari,” said she, “ you must soon 
know everything ; but be patient ” 

“Our mistress?” asked I, at no time very patient, 
and now devoured with questions. 


254 


GRACE O MALLEY 


“ Wait a little, wait a little,” said she, and she broke 
into weeping again, so that my heart smote me at the 
sight of her grief. But when I would have taken her 
in my arms again to try to comfort her, she waved me 
off, and, shaking up her horse, rode on in front. 

The day breaking clearly as we went along, I ob- 
served that those behind me were two women of my 
mistress’s and Eva’s and the man I had brought with 
me from The Cross of Blood to Askeaton. My mind 
was now in such a tangle that I had to resign myself 
passively, and to become, as it were, rather a spectator 
of than a participator in, what was going on. 

In truth, I felt more at sea than ever before in my 
life, and was even inclined to prick myself, like a boy, 
to see if we were indeed living, or merely moving in 
some spectral land of shades and phantoms. 

Nor did this air of unreality wear away until we 
had arrived at the camp of the Burkes. But as we 
emerged from the trees into the open, we were at once 
recognized by those on guard, for they had seen both 
Eva and myself frequently in the galleys, and thus we 
were well known to them. 

They raised so loud and fervent a shout of welcome 
that the MacWilliam quickly appeared on the ground 
to ascertain what was happening. He gazed at us, 
like one sorely puzzled ; then as he came forward to 
greet us, there was an expression of alarm. 

“ Eva O’Malley ! ” he exclaimed. Then he came 
up to me, and as I held out my hand he gasped with 
astonishment, for my hands were bleeding from the 
unhealed cuts inflicted by the ropes with which I had 
been tied, my dress was in disorder, and my feet, 
which were bare, were spattered with blood. 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 255 

“ What has happened ? ” cried he, hoarsely. “ Where 
is your mistress? What ? What ? ” 

“ Fetch wine," said I, partly to divert his thoughts 
partly because it seemed as if Eva were about to 
swoon. “ Go, fetch us wine ! " 

“ Yes, yes ! " said Eva faintly. Then, with an effort 
of the will, she added, “ I will tell you everything — 
when I have recovered a little." 

Leading us to his tent, he called for wine, and when 
Eva and I had drunk, and our attendants also, she 
and the MacWilliam and I were left by ourselves, all 
the others being told to withdraw. 

“ Have you heard ? " she asked, looking at Burke. 

“ Nothing," replied he, “ save that the Spaniards are 
come. The messenger Ruari sent told me that De 
Ricaldo had arrived at Askeaton, and I have since 
heard that their ships lie at Smerwick." 

“ Nothing more ? " asked Eva. 

And he shook his head. 

“ I hardly am less in the dark than yourself," said 
I. “ All that I know besides, is tliat when I returned to 
Askeaton from Smerwick no more than two days ago, 
I was set upon in entering the castle, overpowered, 
knocked senseless, bound, and make a prisoner." 

Made a prisoner ! " cried Richard Burke. “ God’s 
wounds ? And why ? " 

“ That I as yet know not," I answered. “ But Eva 
will perhaps inform us ; this very night she and Fitz- 
gerald delivered me out of Askeaton." 

Richard Burke gazed from one to the other of us, 
too much astonished to speak. I looked at Eva, whose 
eyes were sad and weary, but the color was in her 
cheeks and her lips trembled only a very little. 


GRACE O MALLEY 


256 

“ Yes,” said she, “ I can tell you ; but let me begin 
at the beginning.” 

“ More wine ? ” said I, and she took a sip from the 
goblet I handed to her. 

“ I am tired,” said she, with a moan like that of a 
hurt child ; “ but you must know all, and that 

quickly. You remember the night in which Joan de 
Ricaldo reached Askeaton? ” asked she of me. 

“ I left some hours later that very night,” I replied, 
“ to meet the Spanish ships.” 

“ You remember also that two of the justices of 
Munster had come from Limerick with a letter from 
the President demanding that Grace O’Malley should 
be sent to him, so that he could cast her into prison ? ” 

“ I had not heard of that ! ” exclaimed Burke. 

“ Yes,” I said ; “ I well remember it.” 

Oh, how am I to tell it ! ” said Eva piteously, and 
I bled for her in all my veins. “ But say on I must. 
Perchance,’’ continued she, speaking to me again, 
“ you observed that Garrett Desmond was infatuated 
with her, and that she did not rebuke him as she might 
have done ? ” 

“ It was to keep stiff that weak back of his,” said 
I, “ and to get him to declare boldly against the 
Queen. 

Richard Burke’s face was like a black cloud, and a 
groan, deep and terrible, came from his lips. 

“ That was it,” said Eva. “ Do I not know that it 
was ? ” said she to Burke. “ Aye, well do I know it. 
And Desmond, too, knows it now.” 

“Desmond knows!” cried Burke more cheerfully, 
and he looked almost happy. This was not my case. 
What horrible thing was coming? I asked myself : for 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 257 

that something horrible had taken place I had no 
doubt whatever, and my spirits sank like a stone. 

“ Listen,” said Eva. “ Desmond sent back the two 
justices empty-handed to the President, but what he 
bade them tell him I cannot say. When they departed 
I noted their demeanor, and it was not that altogether 
of men who were wholly dissatisfied with the issue of 
their mission. Even then,” cried she, with a fierce- 
ness the like of which was never seen in her before, 
‘‘ I believe he meditated treachery.” 

“Treachery! A Desmond a traitor!” said Burke, 
upon whose countenance the cloud had come back, for 
the drift of Eva’s words was clear enough. 

“ No sign, however,” said she, “ did the Earl show 
of anything of the kind. Never was he gayer than 
during the next few days, and I hoped that all was as 
fair for Grace O’Malley’s plans as it seemed. Two 
days after you had gone, Ruari, he and his chief maa 
and our mistress and myself, with a great host of at- 
tendants, went down the stream from the castle, and 
made a visit to the two galleys lying in the bay.” 

“ Tibbot told me of it,” said I. 

“ Desmond had a purpose in it,” said Eva, “ as I can 
see now. He wished to show Tibbot his friendship 
for our mistress, and never after that manifestation of 
it would Tibbot suspect, he thought, that there would 
be aught amiss with her at Askeaton in so long as she 
was with him.” 

“ A shrewd trick,” said I bitterly. 

“ What has taken place ? Where is Grace O’Mal- 
ley?” cried Burke, restless, troubled, tortured even. 

“ I know not where she is,” said Eva slowly, while 
the tears gathered in her eyes. “ I know not.” 

17 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


258 

What ? ” cried he. 

“ Patience,” urged I, myself consumed with im- 
patience, anger, and a multitude of terrible passions. 

“ Let me go on,” said Eva, with a choke. “ It was 
shortly after we had returned from the ships,” con- 
tinued she bravely — “ three or four days perhaps — 
when there was a great stir at the castle, for messen- 
gers had come with tidings of the landing of the 
Spaniards. A letter, too, they brought from Sir James 
Fitzmaurice, who was in command, as it appeared, of 
the expedition. I questioned one of the messengers,” 
said Eva shyly, “ if he had seen you, Ruari, and he 
told me that he had.” 

I secretly blessed my dear for this reference to me, 
but as I did not desire to interrupt her story I kept 
silence. 

“We were all in good heart,” said she, “ by reason 
of the coming of the men from Spain, and Grace 
O’Malley in particular rejoiced exceedingly. Desmond 
himself, however, was strangely quiet. Then that night 

how can I tell you ? ” and she broke down utterly 

and wept aloud. 

Burke’s eyes were full of fright, but mine too 
brimmed over when I looked at my dear and saw 
her shaken with sobs. And I wept also, nor am I 
ashamed of these tears of sympathy. 

“ Tis no time to weep,” said she after a pause, and 
resumed her tale, but in broken accents. “ That night, 
as we were retiring to sleep, 1 observ^ed that Grace 
O’Malley had lost all her gaiety and brightness, and 
was in some great distress of mind. I implored her 
not to withhold her confidence from me, and to tell me 
what was her trouble. 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 259 

Then it appeared that Desmond had read to her the 
letter of Fitzmaurice, and, when she had heard it to 
the end, declared that he had placed his whole future 
in her hands, as he loved her passionately and could 
not live without her. If she would consent to become 
his wife, it would be a very easy matter to get a divorce 
from the countess, and thereafter they would be 
married.” 

“ His wife!” ejaculated Burke. 

“ If she agreed, he said, to this proposal,” continued 
Eva, “ she might do with him and all the Geraldines as 
she had a mind, and he would immediately put himself 
at the head of the rebellion against the Queen, if that 
was her wish.” 

Richard Burke, unable to control his feelings any 
longer, jumped to his feet. 

“ What was her reply ? ” he demanded. 

“ Wait — wait for another moment,” entreated Eva. 

“ Patience,” urged I once more, though God knows I 
had no stock of it myself. 

“If she refused ” said Eva. 

“ She did refuse,” cried Burke. 

“If she refused,” continued Eva, “to become his 
wife, then not only would he not join with the Span- 
iards, but he would aid the English against them. 
When she pointed out to him that he had compromised 
himself both by his intercourse with Spain and with 
Fitzmaurice, and also by harboring herself, a proclaimed 
rebel, he hinted — for at first he would not put his 
thoughts into so many words — that he knew of a way 
in which he might very readily make his peace with the 
President of Munster, and that was by sending to him 
a pledge of his fidelity to the Queen, which he was 


26o grace O’MALLEY 

well informed would be acceptable to him and to her 
Highness.” 

“ Fidelity to the Queen ! ” exclaimed I, glowing 
with wrath. 

Any child could have foreseen what was coming. 
My mistress had indeed played with fire, and it needed 
no wizard to tell me that she had been scorched by its 
flames. 

“ Grace O’Malley,” Eva went on, not heeding my 
interruption, “ did not fail to understand his meaning. 
She herself was the pledge of his fidelity to which he 
had referred. She must give herself to him, or he 
would betray her to the English ; that, and not 
obscurely, was the threat he made — that, and nothing 
else. And she knew that she was in his power.” 

“ Horrible, horrible ! ” said Burke in anguish. 

“ Desmond,” said Eva, “ strove, however, to conceal 
the trap under the cloak of an appeal to her devotion to 
the cause. She had only to say the word, and the 
standards of the Geraldines would be arrayed against 
the Queen, and then, with the English so unprepared 
as they were, success was certain. It rested with her. 
Hers was it to bid him go or stay.” 

It was a strong temptation, I thought, but I was too 
overcome to .speak. 

“ Then,” continued Eva, “he sought to inflame her 
ambition. As his wife, suggested he, might she not 
become not only Countess of Desmond and the greatest 
lady in the south, but even Queen of Ireland once the 
English had been driven out of the country? ” 

Another strong temptation, thought I. 

Desmond had certainly played his cards adroitly 
enough. He had sought to touch her through her 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 


261 


hatred of the English, her love for her country, and 
her ambition — all-powerful forces. Women had sac- 
rificed themselves, nay, had willingly given themselves, 
for less. And I could well understand that to a soul 
like her self-sacrifice was very possible. 

“ But even,” said Eva, “ in the background of all 
his speaking, there lurked, like an evil beast, that hint 
of what he would do, if she refused to submit herself 
to him.” 

After all, I said to myself, Desmond was a fool, for 
that was the worst way to address a woman who had 
the spirit of my mistress. 

“ To gain a little time, perhaps to escape from As- 
keaton,” continued Eva, “Grace O’Malley asked to be 
allowed the right to consider what he had said. And 
to this he agreed, saying roughly, however, as they 
parted, that she must have her answer ready for him 
in the morning, and that there must be an end to tri- 
fling. All this she told me, and then we sought some 
way of escape, but Desmond had taken good care that 
there should be none, for we soon found that we were 
prisoners.” 

“ She had no intention of consenting to Desmond,” 
said Burke, and his voice was full of pride and joy. 

“ No,” said Eva, looking at him with kind eyes, not- 
withstanding the grief in which she was. 

“ Go on, go on,” urged I, half vexed with them both. 

“ I know not,” said Eva, “ what was said or done 
when the morning came, but I have not even seen her 
since.” And her tears fell fast again, while Burke and 
I were .smitten into a gloomy silence. 

“ Have you heard nothing of her ? ” asked I, at length. 

“ One of my women — she is here now — found out 


262 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


that Desmond had taken her to one of his castles 
nearer to Limerick than Askeaton is, with what object 
may be easily guessed." 

Burke started up madly. 

“ What is to be done ? What is to be done ? " cried he. 

“ A moment ! " said I, and I turned to Eva. “ There 
is more to tell, is there not ? " 

“Yes," replied she. “After Grace O’Malley had 
been carried away I was given a certain liberty, for I 
was permitted to move about a part of the castle, al- 
though I was always watched. One day I chanced to 
see Dermot Fitzgerald, and though he tried to avoid 
me as soon as he had perceived me, I ran up to him 
and caught him by the arm. I begged and entreated 
him by our old friendship to tell me what had become 
of our mistress, and what was going on. 

“ When he would not answer, I went on my knees," 
said my dear, bravely, looking at me, “ and reminding 
him of what I had done for him when he lay wounded, 
and of what Grace O’Malley had done both for him 
and De Vilela, besought him to have some pity on me, 
a woman." 

“ Go on, go on ! " said I hoarsely. 

“He was so far moved," said Eva, “as to tell me 
that my mistress was well, and that no hurt would be 
done me. Not that I thought about myself. I saw 
him again once or twice, and besought him to find some 
means by which I might communicate with Grace 
O’Malley, but he said that was impossible. Then I 
implored him to set me free, but that, too, he said was 
not in his power. 

Eva stopped speaking ; then she began again, her 
voice strangely soft and tender. 


THE PERFIDY OF DESMOND 263 

“ I saw you, Ruari, carried up the stairs two days 
sgo — bound, bleeding, almost dead as it seemed, and 
Fitzgerald was along with the men who bore you in 
their arms. Later that evening I saw him, and anx- 
iously asked what had occurred. I now perceived that 
he was unhappy, like one burdened with remorse. 

“ Then he said that you had come to the castle un- 
expectedly, and that while it was deemed necessary to 
make you a prisoner, no violence had been intended 
towards you. He declared that he would give all the 
world if only it would put our affairs right again ; in- 
deed, he was like one gone clean mad with trouble, ex- 
claiming that he was the cause of all our woes ! ” 

‘‘The cause of all our woes! ” cried I. 

“You remember mistress Sabina Lynch, Ruari,” 
said Eva. “ She it was, said he, who had told the 
President of Munster to demand Grace O’Malley as a 
pledge from Desmond of his loyalty to the Queen, and 
it was through him, for he loves this woman, that she 
knew our mistress was at Askeaton, though he had 
never meant to betray her.” 

Verily, as I said before, if I failed in my duty when 
I suffered Sabina Lynch to live, I was grievously pun- 
ished for it. 

“Yet not so does it appear to me,” said Eva, as if 
she had seen into my heart! “ For Desmond is Des- 
mond — a mass of treachery, a thing, a beast ! But 
when I *saw how Dermot Fitzgerald felt about the 
matter, I implored him to try to set you, Ruari, at least, 
at liberty. And he was the more ready to listen to me 
because of this very Sabina Lynch, for, said he, she 
owed her life to you, and he wished to pay back the 
debt for this woman, whom he loves.” 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


264 

Richard Burke kept muttering to himself, repeating, 
as I thought, “ Sabina Lynch ! Sabina Lynch ! ” and 
what else I could not guess. 

“ Next day,” said Eva, “ a large number of the 
Geraldines left Askeaton, and Fitzgerald, being won 
over entirely to me, told me he would endeavor that 
night, there being but five men in the castle, to effect 
your escape and mine also. In the evening the gah 
lowglasses drank deep — deeper even than they knew, 
for their wine and aqua vitae had been drugged — and 
then, when all was still, he came to me who was ready, 
waiting. I asked him where you were, and he replied 
that he wished me to go with him to you, as you would 
trust me, and not, perhaps, him.” 

I see it all,” said I, 

“ Going up to the room where you lay,” continued 
Eva, “ we heard a noise ; that made us pause, then we 
went on again — and you know the rest. The noise we 
had heard had so far alarmed us that we thought it best 
to tell you what we did. Fitzgerald had seen to every- 
thing — said I not rightly that he was my friend ? ” 

And now Burke cried again, as Eva stopped speak- 
ing, “ What is to be done ? What is to be done ? ” 
For myself, while I echoed his question, I was in so 
great a coil that I was as one dumb. 


CHAPTER XXII 


“ ONLY A WOMAN ” 

What is to be done ? ” asked Richard Burke. 

“ We must find out first of all where Grace O’Mal- 
ley is.” It was Eva who spoke, and what she said 
was true. Our mistress must now be our chief — nay, 
our whole concern. 

“Yes, yes!” cried I, roused to action, and looking 
with admiration at this weak little woman, who had 
shown herself so strong. 

“ Let us call in the woman you spoke of,” said 
Burke. “ She may remember something which will 
put us on the scent.” 

“ I fear she has told me all that she knows,” said Eva ; 
“ but summon her here.” 

While we waited for her I was going over what Eva 
had told us, and trying also to recall exactly what had 
been the words used — even more than the words, the 
manner of Fitzmaurice — when I had parted from him 
at Tralee. And as I considered the matter the con- 
viction was borne in upon me that he had had some 
information as to what had happened in regard to 
Desmond and my mistress, but that he had purposely 
said nothing of it to me. 

For one thing, he had evidently intended to keep 
me with him, and so to prevent me from returning 

265 


266 


GRACE O MALLEY 


to Askeaton ; and, for another, he had spoken of 
Grace O’Malley in a way which was little short of an 
insult, and which I was quick to resent. Then De 
Vilela had intervened between us, Fitzmaurice had 
made an apology, and I had left Tralee without op- 
position in further words. 

What had De Vilela said when I had declared that 
my place was with my mistress ? That I had spoken 
a true word, and I remembered that when he uttered 
this it was with little of his customary serenity of de- 
meanor. 

I concluded, as I reflected on what had passed, that 
both Fitzmaurice and De Vilela must have been aware 
— at least, to some extent, of Desmond’s base conduct 
with respect to her. 

Nor was the cause of this silence far to seek. But 
imperfectly informed, most probably, of the whole cir- 
cumstances, and what they had heard having reached 
them from some source favorable to Desmond, they 
were, perhaps, inclined to lay the blame upon my mis- 
tress. 

Then, the Earl’s adhesion to the cause was so es- 
sential for its success that whoever jeopardized it would 
be looked upon with hatred, and thus they would be 
the more prejudiced against her. 

Yet Fitzmaurice had himself told me in effect that 
he was not sure of Desmond, and this before he knew 
anything of Grace O’Malley. Perchance, however, he 
had persuaded himself that he believed what he wished 
to believe. 

And De Vilela? He had sprung to the defense of 
my mistress, but if he knew what had occurred, why 
had he not spoken out? No doubt, I told myself, it 


ONLY A WOMAN 


(( 


267 


was because, while he was ready to uphold her honor, 
he deemed that his duty towards his master, the King 
of Spain, was paramount, and he had therefore sub- 
mitted to Fitzmaurice, who was his leader, and who 
had enjoined silence upon him. This, I surmised, was 
the explanation. 

How much did they know? 

Could they say, I wondered, where Desmond had 
put my mistress? 

Where was she at this moment ? 

The tire-woman had now entered the tent, but, al- 
though she was most willing to tell us all she knew, 
she had no knowledge, it appeared, of the place to 
which Grace O’Malle}^ had been taken. 

“ A castle a few miles from Limerick,” and no more 
could we get from her. And Desmond, or the chiefs 
who regarded him as their prince, had more than one 
castle answering this description. 

The important matter was that Desmond had not 
at once delivered her over to the President of Mun- 
ster. 

First, he was trying to convince her that his was no 
empty threat ; and, second, to bend or break her spirit. 
But I knew that while he might succeed in the one he 
never would in the other. And he would see this so 
soon that I had no doubt whatever that at most not 
more than two or three days would elapse before she 
had been lodged in the prison of Limerick, for I was 
now certain of the complete perfidy of Desmond. 

The man who could betray his guest was not likely 
to be true to any cause. That he had sent Fitz- 
maurice’s letter to the President was, I considered, a 
thing not only possible but in the highest degree prob- 


268 GRACE O'MALLEY 

able. Thus the prospect on all sides of us was dark 
indeed. 

Sooner or later, then, Grace O’Malley would be in 
the power of the English, at the mercy of the President 
of Munster, a helpless captive in Limerick jail ! She 
might be there already, for aught we knew, and there- 
fore it behoved us at once to endeavor to discover if 
she were shut up in Limerick. 

And, if haply this were the case, what could we do ? 
What could my mistress look for at the hands of the 
English ? How could we assist her ? It might even 
now be too late, and my flesh crept upon my bones at 
the thought. 

“ I will go to Limerick,” said I, as the result to my 
reflections ; but when we had diseased the matter it 
appeared to be better that some one else should be 
sent. 

“ I am too marked a man,” said Burke ; and one of 
his gallowglasses would do as well, for if Grace O’Mal- 
ley were in Limerick jail there was not a soul in the 
city who would not know of it, and thus any one on 
the spot could easily obtain what we sought to know. 

I was not persuaded to this course without much 
difficulty, and Burke himself was most determined at 
first to go ; but there was the same objection in his 
case that there was in mine. Neither of us could have 
been long in the streets of Limerick without being rec- 
ognized. At length, a messenger was despatched, 
Burke going out from the tent to tell him what he was 
to do. 

No sooner had Burke left Eva and myself alone to- 
gether, than my dear fell a-weeping, as if her heart 
would break, all her wonderful fortitude utterly gone. 


“ ONLY A WOMAN ” 


269 

I took her into my arms — these great, strong arms of 
mine, now weak and trembling like those of a little 
child — and tried to soothe her grief. Perhaps my love 
and our common sorrow taught us what to say, yet I 
spoke not of love at all. But what I said and what 
she said about ourselves I cannot put into writing — 
and I would not if I could, for there are words and 
there are times which are sacred beyond expression ; 
and such were those words, and such this time. 

She was my love and I was hers ; and though we 
spoke not of it, we both knew, and the knowledge of 
it folded us about like a garment. 

Much, too, had we to say to each other about De 
Vilela and about Fitzgerald, and how strangely they 
had passed in and out, out and in, of the woof of our 
lives. She evidently had a kind of affection for them 
both, and when I was inclined to question her about 
this she said that they had both been wounded and 
helpless, and that she had nursed and tended them, 
and so had come by this feeling. But ever as our 
talk came back to Grace O’Malley our hearts were 
heavy. 

The messenger whom the MacWilliam had sent to 
Limerick returned in the evening. He had seen and 
had spoken to many of the inhabitants of that city, 
and he would hear of nothing which indicated that 
Grace O’Malley was there. We took courage from 
this report, hoping that the worst had not come upon 
her. But the man had something more to tell us. 

As he was on his way back from Limerick he had 
fallen in with a great gathering of armed men, moving 
in eastward, some three or four miles to the south of 
the city. These were Spaniards, he declared, and other 


270 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


foreigners, as well as a large number of the Irish. And 
there were priests with them, and in the midst of them 
a banner, all blue and gold, with the figure of the Lord 
upon it. 

This could be nothing other than the army of Fitz- 
maurice, accompanied by Sanders and the standard 
blessed by the Pope. 

I questioned the man narrowly as to the place where 
he had seen them, and if he had heard where they were 
going. He replied that one had told him that they 
were to camp that night on the banks of the river Mul- 
keen, not far from the Slieve Phelim Mountains, and 
that when he met them they could not have been above 
two leagues’ distance from the ground which had been 
chosen. Feeling fairly certain that Fitzmaurice would 
be with them, and, perhaps, De Vilela also, I resolved 
to set out at once for their camp. 

If I saw Fitzmaurice, I would try to find out from 
him where Grace O’Malley was, and, further, I was 
determined to appeal to him to endeavor to prevent 
Desmond from carrying out his plans. As my mistress 
had not been taken into Limerick, the probability was 
that the Earl had not finally broken with Fitzmaurice, 
and that negotiations were still going on between them. 
There was, therefore, a chance that Fitzmaurice might 
prevail upon him to set her at liberty. 

“Tell Fitzmaurice,” said Richard Burke, when I had 
informed him of what I proposed, “ that unless Grace 
O’Malley is released immediately, the Burkes of Mayo 
will take neither part nor lot with the Geraldines in 
this affair.” 

This suggested to me a possibility I had not yet con- 
templated, but I thrust it away from me, telling myself 


ONLY A WOMAN 


(( 




271 


that Burke was too much distraught to know what he 
was saying. But it kept coming back to my mind, as 
I rode that night along with a guard of the Burkes to- 
wards the Mulkeen. 

When we were within a few paces of the camp, which 
we found without any difficulty, we were challenged 
by a Spanish sentinel. I could not give him password 
or countersign, and he had raised his piece to his 
shoulder to fire, when he suddenly dropped it again, 
saying he remembered my face, having seen me at 
Limerick and also at Tralee. Having asked him if Sir 
James Fitzmaurice was here, he replied that he was, as 
were also the other leaders. When I told him that I 
had business with Sir James, and when he saw ho<v 
small was the guard with me, he said he would take it 
upon himself to allow me to pass within the lines, al- 
though it was contrary to his orders. He therefore 
directed me, pointing through the camp-fires, to the 
spot where Fitzmaurice’s tent had been pitched. 

And now I must put on record, as carefully as I can, 
what passed between Fitzmaurice and myself, so that 
all men can judge whether Richard Burke, Grace 
O’Malley’s lover, and I, Ruari Macdonald, her servant, 
were justified in what we afterwards did or not. 

When Fitzmaurice saw me he was unmistakably sur- 
prised, for he started violently as I entered his tent. 
Perhaps he had thought I was still immured at As- 
keaton, and so out of the way ; but that I know not. 
Besides, when we had last parted it had been in no 
very friendly fashion. Whatever his feelings now were, 
he put on a garb of welcome as soon as his first sur- 
prise was past. 

“ Greeting — a thousand greetings ! ” said he. “ You 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


272 

have come to join us ? How many men have you 
brought with you ? ” 

“ Greeting ! ” said I, then I fixed my gaze sternly on 
him, for if I was right in the opinions I held all words 
of welcome were out of place between us ; and con- 
tinued, “Sir James, I have not come to join you — not 
at present, at any rate. That .is not the business which 
brings me here. I have come to ask you if you know 
where my mistress, Grace O’Malley, is?” 

I was in no humor to pick and choose what forms of 
speech I should use, and I spoke out sharply. 

“ Sir,” said he, frowning, all his cordiality disappear- 
ing instantly, “ what should I know of your mistress, 
Grace O’Malley ? ” And there was a trace of mockery 
in the way he uttered the last four words. 

“ Answer me. Sir James,” said I again. “ Nay, you 
need not, for I can see that you do.” 

“ I have heard something,” said he, at length. 

“ Do you know how the matter stands between her 
and Desmond ? ” asked I. “ Do you know that she 
was his guest — invited by him to Askeaton ? Do you 
know that she has tried to bind him to the cause? 
Do you know that he has told her that he has a 
passion for her, that he holds her as a prisoner in one 
of his castles because she will not submit to him, and 
that he has threatened to give her up to the English, 
and to make common cause with them against you, if 
she will not yield herself to him ? ” 

Fitzmaurice said nothing, but sat scowling at me, 
and biting his lip. 

“Have you no answer?” asked I. “You say you 
have heard something ; perhaps you knew all this be- 
fore I left you at Tralee.” 


ONLY A WOMAN 


<( 


>> 


273 


Then changing my tone to one almost of entreaty, 
I said, “Sir James, bethink yourself before it is too 
late. Nothing but evil can come from these acts of 
Desmond,” and I gave him the message with which 
Richard Burke had charged me. “ Grace O’Malley,” 
I concluded, “ must be returned, and that at once. 
Do you know where she is ? ” 

“ Ruari Macdonald ! ” thundered he with curses, 
“ you always had a proud stomach ! Who are you to 
speak to me in this fashion ? What have I to do with 
your mistress ? What if I do know where she is ? 
What affair of mine is it ? Go and seek Desmond.” 

But he had said enough. 

“You know where she is,” cried I, wildly. “Tell 
me, and I will go and find Desmond.” 

“Aye, and ruin all,” said he half to himself. “ No, I 
will not tell you ; that would be but to add to the mis- 
chief. No ! Grace O’Malley must yield to Desmond, 
and then all will be well.” 

“ Yield to Desmond ! ” exclaimed I. “ She will 
never do that.” 

“ Aye, but she will be forced to do so,” said he, with 
a horrible smile. 

“ Never ! ” said I. “ I know her better than you do ; 
she will die rather than submit.” 

“Then,” said he fiercely,” “ let her die ! ” 

“ Is that your last word?” asked I, furiously. 

He rose up at me like an angry beast, and shaking 
his outstretched hand at me, shouted, “ Curses on you 
both ! Who is your mistress, as you call her, and 
what is she to stand in the way of a Desmond ? Who 
is she to come between us and the deliverance of Ire- 
land? Shall a woman block up the path — only a 
18 


274 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


woman ! ” And on he went in his wrath, saying many 
injurious things of Grace O’Malley, until at last he ap- 
plied to her the vilest of names. 

As his rage swelled, and his language became more 
and more insulting, I grew calmer, until I was pos- 
sessed by a very devil of a deadly coldness. But when 
he used the expression I have hinted at, I could keep 
my peace no longer. 

“ You lie !” said I, and out came my sword. Nor 
was he less ready ; and there we stood for a second 
facing each other, with the candles flickering this way 
and that between us. Then he thrust his sword back 
into its sheath, and saying, “ What need of this fool’s 
blood ! ” shouted loudly to some one outside the tent. 
There was the quick tramp of men, and in came some 
Spaniards with De Vilela at their head. 

“ You here! ” cried De Vilela, when he saw me. 

“Secure him, bind him,’’ said Fitzmaurice, pointing 
at me. 

De Vilela looked from one to the other of us, his 
face very grave, but did not stir. 

“ Bind him ! I command you,” said Fitzmaurice. 

De Vilela stood still. 

“ What ! ” shouted Fitzmaurice. 

De Vilela said slowly, “ May I ask, sefior ” 

“You may ask nothing,” yelled Fitzmaurice. 

De Vilela went white to the lips ; but he spoke with 
that habitual courtesy of his, as, pulling out his sword 
and offering it to Fitzmaurice by the handle, he 
said — 

“ I cannot do this thing, for this man is as my 
brother ! I am your prisoner also, sefior. Do with 
me as you will ! ” Then this loyal gentleman added, 


ONLY A WOMAN 


(i 


n 


275 


turning to the Spanish soldiers, “ Long live the 
King ! ” and they, too, said, “ Long live the King ! 

“Take mine !” cried I, holding out my sword to 
him — so moved out of myself was 1. 

“ Nay ; that I cannot do either,” said he. 

“ Are you mad ? ” asked Fitzmaurice of De Vilela. 
“You must be mad. Has that woman bewitched you 
too ? ” And he wrung his hands. 

“ Seftor,” said I to De Vilela, “ words have passed 
between Sir James Fitzmaurice and myself about my 
mistress that can only be wiped out in one way,” and 
I glanced at my sword. 

De Vilela sighed. 

“ Sefior Fitzmaurice will, I am sure, not refuse ? ” 
asked the Spaniard, courteous as ever. 

“ No, I will not refuse,” said Fitzmaurice. “All 
men know me ; but it cannot be now.” 

“Yes,” said De Vilela — Fitzmaurice had not taken 
the proffered sword — “ no one will impugn your cour- 
age. But if you do not refuse you will not seek to 
detain this man ? ” And he looked searchingly at 
Fitzmaurice, who did not answer, but curtly nodded 
assent. 

“ Go, Sefior Ruari ! ” said De Vilela ; but I stood 
firm. 

“Go,” said Fitzmaurice. “Do not fear, we shall 
meet again ! ” 

“ To meet again, then,” I said, and went out from 
the tent. 

Summoning my men, I returned, darkly brooding 
over these strange happenings, to the camp of the 
Burkes. I had failed entirely to compass the object 
for which I had set out, for I was no nearer knowing 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


276 

where Desmond had taken my mistress. But Fitz- 
maurice knew, and when I recalled what he had said, 
my heart overflowed with bitterness. 

I would be just to this man if I could. I can see 
now, looking across the grave of the years, that he 
viewed my mistress solely in the light of her being an 
obstacle in his path, and so he cared not what her fate 
was so long as she was out of the way. 

** Only a woman ! ” he had said of her, and that she 
was only a woman doubtless increased his sense of in- 
jury. But he forgot that it was for ** only a woman ” 
that men have ever fought and died. 

When I arrived at the camp, Richard Burke was 
waiting for me. When he had heard me to the end, 
he said, “ You should have killed him ! ” I had had 
the same thought myself, but De Vilela and the Span- 
ish soldiers had come too quickly upon the scene for 
that. Besides, we should meet again, and thus I com- 
forted my soul. 

Let us to sleep,” said I. 

“ I cannot sleep,” said he, and I heard him pacing 
up and down through the rest of what remained of 
the night, for though I shut my eyes, no sleep came 
to me either. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

I HAVE seen a great swell of the sea, a mountain of 
a wave — caused by some violent storm which has spent 
its worst fury many leagues away — roll in from the 
ocean, lift a ship from her moorings, and dash her to* 
pieces on the rocks. 

As I rose in the morning and stepped out of the 
tent into the dewy freshness of the day, I thought I 
was not unlike that ship. For I could not disguise 
from myself that our affairs had suffered shipwreck. 

Grace O’Malley was a prisoner, and I was unable 
to deliven her. R her servant, was bound before any- 
thing else to try to free her from her captivity, and I 
did not even know where she was : and when I had 
sought to find it out it had been with the result that 
a furious quarrel had sprung up between Fitzmaurice, 
the leader of the Irish, and myself. 

He had not only refused to help me to obtain her 
liberty, but he had slandered and contemned her to 
my face. Not under such a man could I or the 
O’Malleys fight. Nay, there now could be nothing 
between us but the deadliest feud. 

And yet we had all come to Kerry to .stand by the 
side of this man and his Spaniards in the rising of the 
Queen ! That, at least, was now impossible. How 

277 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


278 

could we support one who had spoken of our mistress 
and chief as he had done ? And the Burkes were in 
the same position as we ourselves. 

As I paced along the ground, Richard Burke, gaunt 
and hollow-eyed, joined me. Burning with resent- 
ment and indignation, he was eager for instant action, 
and made the wild proposal that I should immediately 
bring all the men from the galleys, and having made a 
junction with him and his forces, march against Fitz- 
maurice. 

At the first blush of the thing I had almost said 
yes ; but a little cool reflection showed me that not 
only were the odds against us overwhelming, but that, 
even if we were successful, I should be no nearer my 
main object, which was the release of Grace O’Malley. 
So far as I was concerned all the considerations had 
to bow to that. 

Nor could I readily bring myself in a moment, as it 
were, into an attitude of hostility to Fitzmaurice, for he 
represented our cause against the English, and to fight 
him was, in effect, to help the enemy. 

Having told the MacWilliam all that was in my 
mind, and having won him over to my way of think- 
ing, we considered how we should now proceed. It 
appeared to me to be best that we should all return 
to the ships, for the camp of the Burkes, being in the 
heart of Desmond’s country, was very open to attack 
from the Geraldines, who could no longer be regarded 
as friends, and so might easily be surprised and 
taken. 

There was also the strong argument that if any 
disaster overtook the galleys in our absence, we should 
be completely cut off from any way of getting back to 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 279 

Connaught, and our situation would become desperate 
and well-nigh hopeless. 

Another reason was that we could, with even greater 
advantage than from the place where the Burkes were 
camped, send out from the galley scouts and spies, 
with a view to ascertaining where Desmond was. 

To that I now bent my whole energy, for I felt sure 
that so long as Grace O’Malley was not in the jail of 
Limerick, and so harder to come at than ever, she 
would be confined in some castle which the Earl 
occupied with his forces, and where he would remain 
until he was convinced that he could neither bend 
nor break her will. For that, I knew, would be the 
end. 

Having struck our camp, we marched to the west- 
ward so as to avoid .Askeaton ; then, going to the 
north, were safely on board the galleys by the evening, 
having only encountered on our journey several small 
bands of the Irish on their way to Fitzmaurice, whom 
we suffered to pass on, having first asked them if they 
had any information as to where Desmond was. They 
had been told, it appeared, that the Earl had raised 
the standard of revolt, and was in camp with Fitz- 
maurice on the Mulkeen. Nor did we undeceive them. 

For a week I kept the galleys sailing up and down 
the Shannon, stopping every mile or two and sending 
men ashore — sometimes going myself — to speak with 
the inhabitants ; but never a word could we hear of 
Desmond, though occasionally we heard of Fitzmaurice, 
who had not moved from the position he had taken 
up. 

Each evening of that terrible week found me less 
hopeful and more despondent ; in truth, I would have 


28 o 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


<iespaired had it not been for the constant solace of 
Eva, who seemed to have changed herself into an- 
other person, so brave and steadfast was she. 

Hitherto I had kept well away from Limerick, but 
now I resolved to bring the galleys as close up to the 
walls of the city as I dared. Limerick was a great 
and strongly fortified place, and, therefore, to be 
avoided by us ; but it was the center of all that part 
of Ireland, and there might be opportunities in its 
neighborhood of hearing more fully what was going 
forward. I was encouraged to do this, also, by the 
fact that there were singularly few ships in the river 
— no doubt owing to the presence of the Spaniards in 
the country. 

When we were yet perhaps a league from the walls 
we saw a small boat with a sail coming towards us. I 
looked keenly at her, and even as I looked at her she 
was suddenly put about, and was headed back for the 
city, for they evidently did not like our appearance. 

Two of the men in her seemed to be soldiers, and 
I signaled Tibbot, whose galley was leading, to cap- 
ture her — which he did after a short chase, the occu- 
pants of the boat surrendering without any resistance. 

I had the two soldiers, as they proved to be, 
brought on board of The Cross of Blood, and having 
assured them that I intended them no harm, asked 
them how matters stood in the city. The first words 
they uttered were enough to stun me. 

“ Grace O’Malley,” said one of them, “was brought 
into Limerick yesterday, and delivered up to Sir 
Nicholas Malby.” 

“Grace O’Malley in Limerick,” I cried, “and Sir 
Nicholas Malby there also ! ” 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


281 


The fatality of the thing completely broke down my 
control, and I could not speak for some minutes. I 
had somehow felt all along that my mistress would be 
given up to the English by Desmond, but to be told 
that this had actually come to pass was none the less 
a crushing blow. And to Sir Nicholas Malby, the 
Colonel of Connaught, our implacable foe ! 

The two men gazed at me curiously, seeing how 
overcome I was. 

“ How comes Sir Nicholas Malby to be in Limerick ? 

I asked, pulling myself together. “ Connaught is his 
government, not Munster ; how does he happen to be 
here ? ” 

“You surely must know,” said the man who had 
spoken before, “that Sir James Fitzmaurice, one of 
the Desmonds, has arrived in the country at the head 
of a large army from Spain, and that the Irish people 
are flocking in to him from all quarters ? ” 

“Yes” said I, shortly, “ I know all that.” 

“ Sir Nicholas Malby was summoned by the Presi- 
dent of Munster,” said the soldier, “ in hot haste to the 
defense of Limerick. We were in garrison at the 
time at Athlone, several hundred of us, and Sir Nich- 
olas, having marshaled us in our companies, immedi- 
ately set off in response down the Shannon, and two 
days ago we arrived here. The President is terror- 
stricken, and the whole city trembles with fear. 

“ How came you to be without the walls? ” I asked. 
“ And at such a time ? ” 

“ We were trying to escape,” said the man, “ for we 
heard that the city would soon be taken by the Span- 
iards, of whom there are thousands, and that every one 
of us would be tortured and slain by them.” 


282 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ Is the Earl of Desmond in Limerick ? ” I next in- 
quired — noting, however, how the number of Fitz- 
maurice’s men had been exaggerated. 

“ No,” replied the man. “ He sent Grace O’Malley 
bound in chains into the city to Sir Nicholas Malby, 
but he came not himself. ’Tis said that he will neither 
join the Spaniards, nor yet assist us, but holds himself 
aloof from both until he sees on whose side fortune 
will declare itself.” 

And this reed of rottenness, this catspaw of the 
wind, was the man whom my mistress, led on by the 
memories of the past greatness of the house of Des- 
mond and by the hope that under him the Irish might 
unite, had called our natural leader. 

It had been the noble dream of a noble soul, that 
vision of hers ; but, like many another noble dream, it 
was woven around a man incapable of filling the part 
he was called upon to play, and so was nothing but a 
dream. 

The folly and wickedness of Desmond seemed to 
me to be almost inconceivable. Balked by the firm- 
ness of my mistress, he had wreaked his wrath upon her 
by handing her over to the one man in all Ireland who 
might be suffered to regard her capture with the ut- 
most joy, and who would take a fiendish delight in 
torturing her. 

Having gratified his hatred of her — for such his love 
no doubt had become — the Earl sought to stand in 
with both sides in the approaching struggle by com- 
ing out openly on behalf of neither. It needed not 
that one should be a prophet to forecast that Desmond 
would fall and be crushed between the two. 

While such thoughts passed rapidly through my 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 283 

mind, the chief thing which I had been just told — that 
Grace O’Malley was immured in a jail of Limerick — 
threw everything else into the shade. In the hope 
that the men might have heard what had occurred to 
her after her arrival in Limerick, I asked them : 

“ Do you know or did you hear, what Sir Nicholas 
Malby did in respect of Grace O’Malley, after she had 
been delivered up to him ? ” 

I was one of his guard,” said the man, who acted 
as spokesman for the twain, “ when she was brought 
before him. Sir Nicholas eyed her with great stern- 
ness ; albeit it was easy to see that he was well-pleased 
to jhave her in his power, for she had wrought the 
English terrible injuries in Galway, and had set him 
at defiance. However, she did not quail nor humble 
herself, but bore herself like a princess, as, they say, 
she is.” 

“ What said Sir Nicholas?” asked L 

“ He demanded of her many things,” replied the 
man, “but she would answer him not at all. Where- 
upon he was enraged against her, and gave orders that 
the city gallows should be got ready forthwith, and 
that she should be hanged immediately.” 

“ Did she not speak even then? ” 

“ No. She looked at him very calmly and tran- 
quilly, like one, indeed, who had already tasted of the 
bitterness of death and had no fear of it. A strange 
woman, and a brave ! But ’tis said she is a witch.” 

“ What happened after that?” 

“ We were leading her away to the square in which the 
gibbet stands, when Sir Nicholas called to us to come 
back, for he had changed his mind, as it now appeared. 
Said he to her, 'You will not dance in the air to-day, 


GRACE O'MALLEY 


284 

mistress, and I shall take good care that you dance not 
out of Limerick as you did out of Galway ! ’ But to 
what he alluded when he said that I know not. There- 
after she was cast into one of the dungeons of the 
place.” 

“ One of the dungeons? ” asked I. 

** Yes — there are several deep, dark dungeons below 
the jail of Limerick, and she was thrust into one of 
these.” 

I had heard enough, and having sent the two soldiers 
away in charge of some of my men, I went and told 
Richard Burke the evil tidings. Up to this moment 
he must have cherished the hope that Grace O’Malley 
would in some way or other escape, for he was utterly 
unmanned on hearing where and in whose hands she 
was, and abandoned himself to the wildest grief. The 
very color of his face showed that he already regarded 
her as one dead. As for myself, there had grown upon 
me a kind of coldness, and an icy numbness, as it were, 
which seemed to have killed all feeling within me for 
the time. 

And perhaps it was well that this was the case, else I 
should never have been able to carry the news to Eva. 
Yet she must be told, and tell her I did. 

“ So long as she is alive,” exclaimed Eva, when I 
had come to the end of my tale, “ there is hope. I 
will not believe that it is her destiny to perish in this 
manner ! ” 

What had become of the timid, shrinking girl ? 
For my dear was transformed altogether, being now 
full of courage, and of purpose and determination. 

“ Remember,” said she, what Sir Nicholas is ; how 
greedy of money he is, how avaricious ! Think you he 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 285 

would not sell Grace O’Malley for gold ? Only offer 
him enough, and he will set her free.” 

I thought of the immense treasure which lay in the 
Caves of Silence under the Hill of Sorrow, and, for a 
minute, I considered that Eva’s suggestion might avail 
us. But the caves were far away from Limerick, and 
to go thither was out of the question. 

Besides, the English rule was too seriously threat- 
ened to permit Sir Nicholas to be moved at this time 
by bribes, however rich they were. If he opened his 
hands, liberating Grace O’Malley with his right, and 
taking her gold with his left, it would not be now ; the 
situation of the English was far too perilous for that. 

All this I saw with perfect clearness, and when I 
spoke to Eva of it, she was at first inclined to fly out 
at me, and to reproach me for my apathy. Yet, God 
wot, it was not apathy ; I simply could not see any 
way out for us, or, rather, for our mistress, no matter 
in what direction I looked. All that I could think of 
was that I should get into Limerick under some dis- 
guise, and then endeavor to find a means of effecting her 
escape. 

When I mentioned this to Eva, she replied that to 
carry out such a plan would, or might, involve too long 
a delay, for our mistress being already condemned 
might be executed at any moment. This was true ; 
but as I could not conceive of any other scheme, I re- 
solved to set about undertaking it, and that no later 
than next day. 

That night my sleep was troubled and uneasy, and 
I tossed restlessly about, so that when the first light of 
day was seen I sprang from my couch. As I did so I 
heard Calvagh O’Halloran call my name loudly, and 


286 


GRACE O MALLEY 


at the same instant there was the sound of oars ; then 
Calvagh, as I stepped on deck, came running towards 
me, crying something I could not quite distinguish, 
and pointing to The Gray Wolf, which had slipped her 
anchor, and was now being rowed away from us in the 
direction of Limerick. 

All this came upon me so suddenly that I could 
scarcely grasp the meaning of it, until I noticed Eva 
O’Malley standing in the poop of The Gray Wolf, and 
waving her hand to me in farewell. 

“ Stop ! stop ! ” I cried ; but on went the galley at 
racing speed. “Stop! stop!” I cried again; but re- 
ceived no other response than that given by those 
waving hands. I was on the point of ordering Calvagh 
to get The Cross of Blood under weigh, when I observed 
that Eva had sent Ait O’Malley by one of the small 
boats of The Gray Wolf to my galley with a message 
for me. 

“ What is this ? What is this ? ” I asked of him. 

“ Eva O’Malley bids me tell you,” replied he, “that 
she is going into Limerick to see Sir Nicholas Malby.” 

“ What ? ” I cried. “ Has she gone crazed ! To see 
Nicholas Malby ! What frenzy is this? ” 

“ ’Tis no frenzy, Ruari Macdonald,” said Art 
O’Malley, “ but her settled will. And she bade me 
say that you must wait here, and she will return to- 
night, or else, if she come not, that we must all go to 
Limerick to-morrow.” 

“ What is her intention ? ” 

“ That I know not. It was not till I was in the 
boat that she gave me these words for you, and none 
ot us imagined, when the galley set out, that you were 
not aware of what she was about.” 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


287 


I looked at the man in wonder. 

“ Have you no suspicion at all of what she would be 
at ? " 

“ To see Sir Nicholas Malby — as she said ; I know no 
more.” 

In the circumstances there was nothing left me 
to do but to wait and wonder, to wonder and to 
wait. 

What interpretation was I to put on this extraor- 
dinary, this rash act of Eva’s ? Did she think she 
would be able to bribe Sir Nicholas? Was that her 
idea ? Or did she have some other plan ? 

But all these surmises were powerless to console me ; 
and it was with a gladness of heart, to which I had long 
been a stranger, that I saw The Gray Wolf come up 
alongside of us in the afternoon. 

And who was that who stood by the side of my dear 
in the poop-deck? Richard Burke was with me, and I 
cried to him to look. 

“ Who is that ? ” asked I, astounded, doubting if my 
eyes did not juggle with me. 

“You may well ask,” said he. “ Some miracle must 
have come to pass ! ” 

“ Then, ’tis he ! ” I cried. 

“Sir Nicholas Malby himself,” said Burke, and his 
face was intensely lighted up with a new hope rising in 
his breast. 

“ Aye, ’tis Sir Nicholas! ” cried I. “ By God’s wounds 
this is a strange thing ! ” 

There they stood together — the Colonel of Con- 
naught and Eva O’Malley. Like Burke my heart 
grew light, as if a great weight had been taken from 
me, for I knew that Malby must have some proposal, 


288 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


to make us which must be to our advantage, otherwise 
he would never thus have ventured to come. 

If he was not exactly alone, he had apparently but 
few of his soldiers with him ; and evidently, therefore, 
he was determined to show us that whatever it was he 
was to offer us, was offered to men in whom he had 
implicit faith. 

And what had Eva said, what promised, what un- 
dertaken for us? How had she managed to bring 
him? What had this little weak woman, who would 
yet be so great and strong, done? 

And I still glow with a pride in her that is too deep 
and too high for words when I think of it all. Surely, 
it was nothing but a miracle, as Burke had said. One 
thing, at least, was now certain, and that was that Grace 
O’Malley was alive, or Malby would not have come to us. 

The Gray having dropped her anchor, Eva and 
Sir Nicholas immediately made signs to Richard Burke 
and me to go over to them, and we hastened to comply 
with their wish. As we approached. Sir Nicholas 
saluted us both very courteously, and we bowed low in 
return. Eva was the first to speak. 

“ I went this morning to Sir Nicholas,” said Eva ; “ I 
was detained at the water gate, but — ” 

“You area brave as well as a beautiful woman,” 
said he, interrupting her, “ and I regret that there was 
any delay at the gate.” 

“ It would have been singular,” replied she, smiling, 
“ if there had not been some opposition. However, 
having stated who I was, I prevailed after some time 
upon the captain of the watch to send me to Sir 
Nicholas. I wished to see if Sir Nicholas utterly 
refused to accept a ransom for our mistress.” 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


289 

Yes,” said I, eagerly. “ We will pay it gladly.” 

“ He refused to receive a ransom, however,” said Eva. 

“ Then — ” asked I. 

“ He had better tell you himself what he proposes,” 
said she. “ He asked me if I thought you would agree, 
and knowing how you and the MacWilliam now feel 
with respect to Sir James Fitzmaurice, I answered 
that I deemed it probable enough. He next wished to 
know how he w'as to convince you of his sincerity, and 
I suggested his coming with me as a proof o? it. But 
that I have passed my word to him, pledging you 
and Richard Burke also to his safety, he is in our 
hands.” 

“ I will be frank with you,” said Sir Nicholas, bluntly, 
“ and not waste words. You wish to free your mistress, 
and you have a quarrel with Sir James Fitzmaurice so 
that you no longer can fight by his side against us. If 
you and the MacWilliam will join your men to mine, 
I will not only set Grace O’Malley at liberty, but will 
confirm her in possession of her estates in the Queen’s 
name, and also grant what I know she desires in re- 
spect of her ships.” Sir Nicholas paused, eying us 
narrowly. 

“ The MacWilliam and I are proclaimed rebels,” 
said I. 

“ Come to the aid of her Highness,” said he, “ and 
you will be rebels no longer.” Thus, as he saw that we 
both were silent, he said, and here he touched us to the 
quick, “ Have you no desire to be avenged on Fitz- 
maurice and the Desmonds ? ” 

“ Aye, by the Mass, yes,” cried Burke. 

“ What say you, Ruari Macdonald ? ” asked Sir 

Nicholas. 

19 


290 GRACE O’MALLEY 

“ Tell me first/’ said I, “ how stands Desmond in 
this matter ? ” 

“ He has gone to Askeaton again,” said he, “ and as 
he will not declare himself for the Queen, he must be 
judged to be against her.” 

“ Did you say anything to Grace O’Malley of this 
errand of yours to us ? Does she know of it ? ” asked I. 

“ Yes,” said he. 

“ And what is her word to us ? ” 

‘ Bid these men of mine avenge me, and that right 
speedily ! ’ That was what she said.” 

“ Well spoken ! ” cried Richard Burke. 

*‘I have never disobeyed her yet,” said I, “and I 
shall not do so now.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 

As we four stood facing each other on the poop of 
The Gray Wolf, there was the sound of a door opened 
and closed, and then the pit-pat of steps on the deck, 
and well did I know who it was. 

“ Grace O’Malley ! ” cried I joyously, turning towards 
her. 

“ Grace O’Malley ! ” said Richard Burke, and could 
not say more for very gladness. 

My mistress smiled upon us, as she gave one hand to 
the MacWilliam and the other to me ; but as I gazed 
upon her I saw that those great eyes of hers were deep- 
shadowed with sadness. And well could I understand 
how the failure and defeat of her most cherished hopes, 
brought about by the perfidy of Desmond, and ac- 
quiesced in by Fitzmaurice, preyed upon her mind and 
filled her with gloom. What she now said to me 
showed how her thoughts ran. 

“ So you are become a Queen’s man, Ruari !” 

“ I am your servant, Grace O’Malley,” said I. 
“ What care I whose man I am, so long as I am 
yours ! If you say be a Queen’s man, then Queen’s 
man am I.” 

“ And you, Richard Burke ? ” she asked. 

“ You well know what I would say ! ” answered he. 

291 


292 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


“ It is well,” said she ; but if she had said, “ It is 
ill,” her accents could hardly have been more sober or 
less exultant. And for myself, when I recalled the 
image of De Vilela, who must henceforth be our foe, 
and all that I owed him, I could not but share in and 
sympathize with her feelings. 

Sir Nicholas Malby, perhaps guessing something of 
what we were thinking, and anxious to reap the fullest 
benefit as soon as possible from our alliance with him, 
brought the conversation sharply round to Fitzmaurice 
and the Geraldines. 

He was enough of a tactician to say very little of the 
past or of the Spaniards ; only he harped incessantly 
on the baseness with which our mistress had been 
treated by her own countrymen, and so wrought upon 
our desire for revenge. 

** Here and now is your opportunity ! There is no 
time to be thrown away. Each day sees Fitzmaurice 
in a stronger position, as men pour into his camp 
from all directions. Desmond, meanwhile, like the 
weakling he is, still hesitates. If we are to succeed, 
the blow must be struck at once — should he join Fitz- 
maurice, I may have to wait till soldiers have come 
from England ; if we move at once, however, though 
the enemy is more numerous than our combined forces, 
we are, I believe, a match for them. 

“ Tell us your plans,” said Richard Burke, and there- 
upon Sir Nicholas began to discuss with us what course 
was to be pursued. 

He appeared to be well-informed of all that was 
going on in the camp of Fitzmaurice, and was deter- 
mined to offer him battle at once. With this end in 
view, we agreed to move up the galleys that very after- 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 293 

noon to Limerick, and anchor them in the harbor within 
its walls. 

It was not without misgivings that I consented to 
this, for then we should be indeed at the mercy of Sir 
Nicholas; but he was so fair and open with us, and 
had so placed himself, without reserve, as it were, in 
our hands, that I gave way ; nor, as the event showed, 
was our trust misplaced. 

I returned to The Cross of Blood, and in a very few 
minutes, the three galleys were on their way to Limer- 
ick, where their appearance shortly afterwards created 
no small stir among its inhabitants. 

Thinking that Grace O’Malley and Eva would prefer 
being left together, I had taken Sir Nicholas on board 
of my ship ; and he and Burke and I considered the 
situation of affairs, and resolved that next morning we 
should all march out from Limerick and engage Fitz- 
maurice. Sir Nicholas estimated our whole force at a 
thousand men, most of whom were hardened soldiers 
and veterans of war, nor did he anticipate that we 
should meet with any strenuous resistance, save from 
the Spanish troops, who would be certain to fight des- 
perately. 

One favor I asked of Sir Nicholas, and only one. I 
told him that there was amongst the Spaniards a gen- 
tleman, a certain De Vilela, to whom I was beholden 
by the greatest of obligations, and I begged of him 
this boon — if it should be the fortune of war that Don 
Francisco were taken alive, then that he should be 
given up to me upon my paying such a ransom as 
would satisfy the captors. And to this Sir Nicholas 
very willingly assented. 

After we had come into port, and the galleys were 


294 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


made fast to the quay, Sir Nicholas went on into the 
city to give orders with respect to his soldiers and to 
prepare for the morrow. But, ere he left us, he said 
he would either come himself to see me late that night 
to give us his final commands, or would send one of 
his chief captains in his place. 

As I watched that sturdy figure of his, I recalled 
that when I had last talked with him it was on the 
night of the revel in Galway, and could not but marvel 
at the strange dance both he and I had been led by 
fate since that time. 

Also I did not fail to reflect that while Sir Nicholas 
had spoken confidently of our ability to cope with 
the enemy, he must have deemed his position to be 
critical in the extreme, or he never would have 
made terms with us. Nothing but the stern compul- 
sion of necessity could have forced him to act as 
he had done — nothing else, indeed, could have justi- 
fied him. 

I was sure, being acquainted with the nature of the 
man, that it would have been more congenial to him 
to have fought us, as well as Fitzmaurice. Being placed, 
however, as he was, he had seen, with the quickness 
and shrewdness of a man well versed in affairs, how he 
could make use of the division between us and Fitz- 
maurice, and turn it to his profit and the service of the 
Queen. 

His need of us must have been very great, for him 
not only to have to relinquish the vengeance he had 
vowed against my mistress and myself, but also to ask 
for our aid. But would our assistance suffice ? 

My heart beat fast and quickly as I thought that the 
morrow’s battle might have a very different result from 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 


295 

that which he expected. To say the least, our victory 
was very uncertain, seeing that our combined forces 
were probably far outnumbered by those of Fitz- 
maurice. 

After I had spent an hour or two musing in this 
fashion, I saw Eva appear on the deck of The Gray Wolf. 
All my doubt of the issue of the morrow vanished im- 
mediately, and a swelling tide of love and tenderness 
swept over me as I beheld my dear. In truth, I had 
loved her all my life ; but there was now mingled with 
my love a feeling that was close akin to worship, for 
what had not she dared ? 

Thank God, I say again, for the great hearts of 
women ! 

She did not at once perceive me, and I observed in 
the pensive droop of her head and of her body that 
she was weary. There was now naught between us — 
but a few feet of water ; and I quickly made my way 
to her side. She greeted me with a radiant smile, and 
love’s own light was shining in her soft eyes. 

Ruari ! ” 

And love, too, was in her voice. 

Long did we hold sweet converse together, saying 
such fond things to each other as lovers say ; but it is 
not for me to set them forth. 

When I asked her what had put it into her mind to 
go to Sir Nicholas Malby, she replied that after the con- 
versation we had had, in which she had suggested offer- 
ing a large sum to him as a ransom for Grace O’Malley, 
a notion which I had scouted, she had pondered the 
matter, and had resolved, without informing me of her 
intention, to endeavor to gain admittance to Sir Nich- 
olas, and to tell him that he had only to name what 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


296 

amount of treasure he required to purchase our mis- 
tress’s liberty, and it would be given. 

“ I felt an irresistible impulse, said Eva, “ and it 
was so strong upon me that I could get no rest until I 
had seen Sir Nicholas.” 

“ Did Sir Nicholas receive you well?*” 

Yes, indeed,^* said Eva. “ He was disposed to 
regard my appearance as most fortunate, for he had 
already been casting about for some means of commu- 
nicating with you and the MacWilliam.” 

And here our talk was interrupted by the sharp 
ringing of the hoofs of horses upon the stones of the 
quay, the clank of arms, and shouted words of com- 
mand. 

“ Sir Nicholas again ! ” cried I, and we went forward 
to meet him. 

“ All is well,” said he briefly, but briskly. I wish 
you to disembark your men, — ” and here he stopped ; 

but where is Richard Burke?” 

“ He is with Grace O’Malley,” said Eva. 

Sir Nicholas stood for an instant lost in thought. 

“ Rumors have reached us,” said he, at length, “ that 
the MacWilliam is greatly desirous of allying himself 
with Grace O’Malley more nearly than as a mere com- 
rade and friend in war.” 

His words were a question, and I could almost have 
sworn there was a twinkle in those fierce eyes of his. 

“ Yes, that is true,” I answered, seeing no need 
for any equivocation or denial. 

“ It would be no bad thing,” said he, “ for after what 
has passed they will surely be loyal to her Highness.” 

“ Yes,” said I, somewhat drily, “but that will also 
depend upon her Highness.” 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 


297 

“ Her Highness,” cried he, “ can mean nothing but 
good to this her realm of Ireland. Peace and quiet are 
essential to its prosperity, and these she will have, and 
so, by God, shall 1.” 

“ Let us go and see them,” said I ; for what he had 
said seemed to me very like halloing before we were 
out of the wood, as it were. 

When we entered the cabin I saw at once that my 
mistress had recovered something of her usual spirits, 
while Richard Burke’s honest face was bright with hap- 
piness. It needed no voice to tell me that he had again 
made suit to her, and that she had not repulsed him. 

And so best, thought I. 

But there was a stern business before us, for we must 
win our way to the hands of our brides across a field 
of blood. 

Sir Nicholas began at once to tell us what he had ar- 
ranged with respect to us and his English troops. At 
dawn we were all to cross the Shannon, and, plunging 
into the forest, march upon the camp of Fitzmaurice. 
He trusted that he might come upon Sir James un- 
awares, or, at any rate, before he had had time to make 
the best disposition of his men. 

When all these matters had been settled between us, 
we bade Grace O’Malley and Eva farewell. 

“ Wear this,” said Grace O’Malley on parting, to 
Richard Burke, taking a ring from her finger and put- 
ting it into his hand, “ and wear it for my sake.” 

As for myself, I had secretly possessed myself of a 
silken ribbon of Eva’s and twined it about the guard 
of my sword. That was guerdon enough for me until 
I should return to claim her. 

Victory ! ” cried my mistress to me. 


298 GRACE O’MALLEY 

“ Amen and amen to that ! ” said Sir Nicholas and 
we all, in a breath. 

Then we went, each one to his place, and the dark- 
ness covered us all till morning came. 

In the twilight of the dawn we assembled to the 
sound of trumpets, and then were rapidly carried across 
the river to its south side, landing about two miles east 
of Limerick. 

The troops of Sir Nicholas were composed of English- 
men and of Irishmen too, though these were chiefly 
from the Pale ; all men who had taken part in many a 
fight, and gloried in nothing so much as in the red riot 
of war. Two hundred of them were mounted, and a 
hundred or, perhaps, more bore arquebuses upon their 
shoulders. But the major portion of them were armed 
with long pikes, and nearly all had swords or daggers. 
The Burkes and the O’Malleys had the Irish sword 
and the stabbing poniard and the still more terrible 
battle ax. 

The men on horseback went first ; then the Mac- 
William and I with our men, followed by the soldiers 
with arquebuses ; last of all. Sir Nicholas and his pike- 
men. 

Such was the order of our march until we were with- 
in half a mile of the outposts of Fitzmaurice’s camp. 
But already his spies had warned him of our approach, 
and we could hear, even at that distance, the noise of 
the commotion among his forces as they prepared to 
receive us. 

We now advanced more slowly, throwing out single 
soldiers here and there among the trees, while the 
mounted men were halted. 

The main body was massed together as solidly as the 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 


299 


nature of the ground would permit, Sir Nicholas him- 
self directing all our movements with the utmost cool- 
ness and unconcern. 

As we pressed onward there was a sharp crack of 
an arquebus, then another and another, until the air 
was full of the sounds of firing; and then the men 
who had been sent forward fell back, crying that the 
Spaniards were drawn up in battle array, and were 
waiting to fall upon us so soon as we came near. 
Before we emerged from the front into the open. Sir 
Nicholas brought up his arquebusiers, bidding Burke 
and myself to support them. At the same time he 
ordered his mounted men to the front. 

When we burst out from among the trees we were 
met by a hail of bullets from the pieces of the Span- 
iards, and a cloud of whirring arrows seemed to form 
and break over our heads. Fora time we were thrown 
back, but returning, like a wave flinging itself upon the 
shore, rushed furiously on the enemy, the arquebusiers 
of Sir Nicholas meanwhile pouring a deadly fire in 
upon the ranks of Fitzmaurice. 

There was the sudden hoarse blare of a trumpet, the 
strident voice of Sir Nicholas crying on us to charge, 
and our horsemen threw themselves madly upon the 
foe, who sullenly gave way before them, but only to 
form up quickly again. The men opposed to them 
were neither cowards nor strangers to the art of war ; 
they were rallied speedily by their captains, and soon 
presented a new front to our attack. 

The air was so darkened by smoke, and there was 
such a tumult from the shoutings of the soldiers and 
the clang and clamor of their weapons and all the wild 
madness of war, that it was some time before I could 


300 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


make out De Vilela among the Spaniards. But there 
he was, his long sword gleaming in his hand, his lips 
moving, and, though I could not hear what he was 
saying, I could well imagine that he was exhorting his 
men to remember Spain, and to acquit themselves as 
became her sons. Then, as the battle raged ; now here 
now there, he passed out of my sight. 

It is a soldier’s duty to do what his general bids him, 
but I was glad when Sir Nicholas called upon Burke 
and myself to lead our people against that part of 
Fitzmaurice’s army which was chiefly made up of the 
Geraldines, and which was commanded by Sir James 
himself. Sir Nicholas rightly judged that our animosity 
would burn more fiercely against them than against the 
Spaniards, and we sprang upon them with a fury they 
could not long withstand. 

At the first onset they met us bravely, and for awhile 
there was much fierce and terrible fighting. Above 
their hosts there rose the Pope’s banner of blue and 
gold, and around it and Sanders, who held it, and his 
priests, they made a stubborn resistance. But they 
were forced back, and ever back. 

I strove to come at F'itzmaurice, but could not for 
the press. We had a score to settle, and settled it was, 
but not by me, for it was Burke who dealt him the 
fatal blow. I had just parried the cunning thrust of a 
sword, as I was trying to reach Fitzmaurice, when I 
saw the flash of a pistol in Burke’s hand, and then Sir 
James swayed and fell forward from his horse. When 
the Geraldines knew what had taken place they turned 
and fled, bearing Sanders and his banner along with 
them, into the thicknesses of the forest. 

Having witnessed the defeat and flight of their Irish 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 


301 

allies, the Spaniards could not but be aware that they 
had small chance of retrieving the fortunes of the day, 
and they now began to retreat. Attacked on the flanks 
as well as in the front, they were thrown into disorder, 
and their retreat became a rout, each man striving to 
save himself. A few, however, stood their ground to 
the last, and among them was De Vilela. 

“ Take him alive ! ” I shouted ; but the words came 
too late. 

I was almost beside him, for I had hoped that he 
would surrender to me if I asked him to do so, and 
with that purpose had fought my way even through 
the English to get near him ; but before I reached him 
he had fallen, his armor all stained with blood, and 
his sword broken in his hand. 

With a great, wild cry of grief, the sharpness of 
which was like the sundering of my spirit from my 
body, I threw my sword upon the ground, and kneel- 
ing beside him, called to him to speak to me if he were 
yet alive. His hand feebly pressed mine, while I wept 
and sobbed like a little child. The lips trembled and 
opened ; the half-shut eyelids faintly quivered ; but he 
could not speak. Again, however, my hand was feebly 
pressed. And so he passed — still with his hand in mine 
— this noble gentleman of Spain. 

Nor does there go by a day when I do not think of 
De Vilela, the man to whom I owed so much — so much 
that I can never repay. 

It was the custom in these wars of ours to cut off 
the heads of the principal men among our fallen 
enemies; this the body of Sir James Fitzmaurice suf- 
fered, the head being sent to Dublin, where it was 
tarred, and put on a spike above the Castle gate. 


302 


GRACE O’MALLEY 


But no such indignity befell the body of De Vilela, 
for, having obtained permission from Sir Nicholas, I 
took my men, made a solemn mourning for him, and 
buried him on the field of battle, where the waters of 
the Mulkern go murmuring past ; and there he lies, 
that true and noble gentleman, in a grave without a 
name. 

****** 

And thus ended the battle of Barrington’s Bridge, 
as it is called, entailing with it the overthrow and col- 
lapse of the rising, for the death of Fitzmaurice, 
although the war lingered on for long afterwards, was 
the death of any chance of success it had. 

****** 

Desmond, who had been hanging about in the 
vicinity during the battle, but had taken no part in it, 
later met with an inglorious end, and with him perished 
his house. 

As for Richard Burke and myself, we accompanied 
Sir Nicholas Malby and his army in various expeditions, 
until the beginning of the winter, when he set out over- 
land to Galway, and we sailed from Limerick the same 
day, in our ships for that city also. Heaven sent us 
fair and gentle gales — perhaps, to make up for all the 
storms through which we had passed — and we came 
safely into the port of Galway, where we lay several 
days waiting for Sir Nicholas, for, at his particular re- 
quest, we — Grace O’Malley and the MacWilliam, and 
Eva and I — were to be married in the church of St. 
Nicholas of Myra. 

And I had heard that when these events came to 


BARRINGTON BRIDGE 


303 


pass, there were among the spectators many who loved 
us and wished us well, and many who did not ; but to 
which of these classes Sir Nicholas really belonged I 
know not, for, in the years that came after, he and 
Grace O’Malley and her husband, Richard Burke, had 
many disputes, and the “ Queen’s peace ” was often 
broken. 

As for myself and Eva, we sailed away from Ireland 
to my old home in Isla, where I was chosen chief in 
the room of my uncle, who had succeeded my father, 
and who was now dead. It was in The Cross of Blood — 
Grace O’Malley’s last gift to me — that we made our 
journey, and that I returned to these isles of Scot- 
land. 

Many years have passed since, and in our life there 
has been winter as well as summer ; but still there is 
the same light in Eva’s eyes, and the same love in her 
voice. It has been our happy lot to grow old together — 
grow old in our love for each other, though that love 
itself is as fresh and new as the flowers of the first 
mornings of summer. 

And so we await the inevitable end. 



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